


An Inner Light

by Zeragii



Category: Astérix le Gaulois | Asterix the Gaul & Related Fandoms
Genre: Asterix and Obelix's Birth, Druids, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Evil Druid, Evil magic, Family, Friendship, Grief, Illnesses, Loyalty, Magic, Menhirs, Mentors, Minor Character Death, Never Giving In, Never Giving Up, Potions, Rivalry, Solas Anam, Students, Temporary Character Death, The Village - Freeform, Village Fights, adorable children, friends - Freeform, injuries, spells
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-15
Updated: 2017-05-25
Packaged: 2018-10-05 16:16:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 29
Words: 154,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10312166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zeragii/pseuds/Zeragii
Summary: Getafix always knew there was something special about Asterix. Right from the moment the little Gaul was born. It was like a light that glowed within Asterix, touching all those around him and making him one of the most remarkable men the druid had ever known...But what if something threatened to take away that light? That special inner light.





	1. Frustrated Experiments

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I'm Zeragii!
> 
> This story can also be found here at https://www.fanfiction.net/u/5798563/Zeragii
> 
> I do not own any of the Asterix characters, Rene Goscinny and Albert Uderzo do. I write only for my own enjoyment and the enjoyment of others.

_35 BC (Before Caesar)*. Deep within the Forest of Carnutes..._

The smell wasn't exactly pleasant. In fact, it was downright pungent. It made you want to wrinkle your nose and cover your mouth; expelling all air from your lungs. Sure, you wouldn't be able to breath, but that was preferable to the foul stench that wafted from the dark, ominous cauldron. The brew bubbled and stirred, raising a frighteningly large amount of steam and yellow colored smoke. To most people, this would be alarming, to say the least. After all, one does not purposefully soil the air of their home with such filthy a pollutant...Unless, of course, you are a druid. If that is the case, it is not only your job, but your hobby, to participate in such an odd, distasteful ritual. And that was a fact that Getafix was quickly learning.

The bearded fellow peered down at the glowing liquid with obvious disapproval. _It shouldn't be yellow. This can't be right._ He quickly moved to a shelf of books, fingering each title until he found the one he was looking for, and hurriedly snatched it down. The volume was dusty, not from disuse, but from the various powders that had settled upon it throughout the day. This room was a laboratory; a room given to the science and magic of all the druids living in Carnutes. Explosions, smoke, and a general assortment of airborne magic powder was not uncommon in this room; deep beneath the ground in a hidden labyrinth of druidic abodes. It was here that druids from all over came to live and work; to try and better their skills and invent new and wondrous spells.

But at the moment, Getafix felt anything but skilled or wondrous as he poured over the faded Celtic scrawls on the water stained parchment of the ancient book. Needless to say, he was frustrated. Beyond frustrated; he was just about ready to throw the volume away in an uncharacteristic fit of anger. Only his grim determination kept him from doing so.

The letters were extremely hard to decipher. Not because Getafix didn't know _how_ to read them, but because they were so blotched and poorly preserved that he simply _couldn't_ make out all the words. It was like some ink-happy dope had suddenly decided to dance his pen across the page in a completely random manner, only getting in an intelligible symbol every two or three sentences. It was like trying to read the doodlings of an infant child.

It made completely, and utterly, no sense.

With a sigh, Getafix closed the book, causing dust to puff out from the musky pages. He set it down on the nearby table with a _thump_ and then sat down heavily on a worn, wooden stool. He was tired. No, that didn't even begin to explain how he felt. He was upset; the pent up anger sapping away his energy. But he couldn't stop now. Not now. Not when he was so close to-

"Getafix?"

_Uh, oh..._

Getafix turned to the deep, curious voice that had suddenly drifted to him from the doorway. There, standing just barely within the yellow glow of the cauldron, stood the Venerable Chief of the Druids. He, just like Getafix, wore the typical white robe of the druids, tied about his waist with a strong cord of rope. And, like all the official druids, he carried a golden sickle, carefully slipped between the cord and his side. It was the only item in appearance that Getafix did not share with the man. They both had white hair, and a long white beard; even though Getafix was a good many years younger. They both wore the same attire, and even looked alike, to a degree. But Getafix had no golden sickle attacked to his side. That was something he'd have to earn.

Something he hoped to earn by the next evening.

Putting on as casual a smile as he could, even though he felt as though he had been caught with his hand in the cauldron, Getafix greeted his mentor. "Good evening, O Venerable Druid. I hope you are well?" It was possible that the ancient fellow had come to mix a potion for his rheumatism. Or to fix some sleeping powder.

The Venerable Druid lifted an eyebrow in suspicion. "I am well. It is not uncommon for me to wander the halls of our earthbound fortress in the dark of night. It is my right and my duty. But you, Getafix; what reason can you give for being up at such a late hour?" He fixed his student with a look that demanded an answer, but also gleamed with a very slight hint of amusement. He wrinkled his nose at the smell in the air; craning his neck to see past the guilty younger man and get a glimpse at the offending brew. "And what, may I ask, is that?"

Getafix sighed. There was no point trying to talk his way out of this mess. He looked even guiltier as he answered. "I...I was practicing for tomorrow's ceremony."

"Practicing?" His mentor looked confused. "But you have already mastered the spell I taught you. You should not need to practice."

"It's not that spell, O Venerable Druid. It's...It's a brew of my own."

That caught the elder's interest. "Of your own?" He came forward, dipping his head low to get a better look at the churning yellow liquid that had congealed into a lumpy goo. He seemed unaffected by the strong stench, and actually reached out a finger to taste it.

"Oh, don't do that!" Getafix cried, taking hold of his teacher's wrist before he could touch the foul stuff.

"Why not?"

"It's...not right," the younger man mumbled, quickly removing his hand from the most revered druid in the land.

"Not right?" the elder asked, and he almost seemed unsurprised. "How do you mean?"

Getafix went and got the dusty old volume from the table, opening it to the page that, for the past three hours, had stumped him. He turned so the Venerable Druid could see. "I found this old book of Celtic spells. In it, I came across this one brew for strengthening the elderly."

"A practice that we use quite often. What is so special about it?"

"This one is a little bit stronger," Getafix continued, tracing the garbled words with his finger. "It should be more efficient than the potion we use now."

His mentor looked from the crusted book to his student's face. "But you said that you were making your _own_ brew. Surely, this does not qualify."

"But it _will_ ," the younger druid insisted. "I'm trying to concoct an even more efficient potion. One that will enhance the power of strength."

"To what extent?"

"I...don't know yet," Getafix confessed. He rapped the open book with his knuckles, obviously discouraged. "This volume is so old, I can't read all the ingredients. And, like mathematics, one can not make it to the next level of efficiency until one has mastered the last. If I can't figure this one out, I can't take the next step to create my own concoction." He gave the book a hard shake. "And I _can't_ figure this out!"

The Venerable Druid took notice of his pupil's mood, before giving Getafix a smile. "It is late. Often times that which seems complicated to us in the dark hours of the night become clear with the light of day. And an appropriate amount of _rest_ , Getafix." He lay a hand an the younger's shoulder. "Come, tomorrow is another day. Do the spell I taught you at the ceremony tomorrow. You will pass from student to official druid, and then you will have a lifetime to blow our minds away with your genius."

Getafix turned to protest to his mentor's comment on his intelligence, but then he saw the kind, almost teasing grin on the Venerable Druid's bearded face. The frustration and tension in his back and shoulders that he had been suffering the past, grueling three hours, suddenly fell away; leaving him more relaxed, but also extremely tired. With a nod of his head, Getafix extinguished the flames beneath the cauldron before bidding his teacher goodnight and heading for his room.

The Venerable Druid was right. Let tomorrow be what it would. For now, he'd stick with what he already knew. The unknown could wait a few more days to be discovered.

And besides, tomorrow was going to be a busy day.


	2. Friends and Rivals

The early morning rays of the rising sun filtered in through the high, narrow windows of Getafix's sleeping chamber. They danced along the flooring, and the bed sheets, finally coming to rest on the sleeping figure's face. Getafix scrunched his eyes shut tighter, trying to move his head away from the unwelcome glare. When that failed to do the trick, he disentangled his right hand from blankets and lifted it to shield his eyes. Now a little less assaulted by the bright light, Getafix groggily opened his eyes. He was immediately reminded of the reason why it is unwise to stay awake until the late hours of the night when one is planning to rise early the next morning. His head pounded in protest as he threw back the sheets and placed his bare feet on the cold, wooden floorboards. His eyes kept trying to close on their own accord; feeling heavy and puffed with the need for a few more hours of rest. But Getafix knew he couldn't do that. Not today.

Rising to his feet, Getafix quickly got dressed; pulling on a clean, pure white robe. He tied the cord about his waist and slipped his blue, sack-like shoes on his feet. He ran a hand through his frizzled beard, smoothing it out before quickly leaving his chamber. He wanted to meet up with his fellow students, and talk about the coming ceremony. He knew, from experience, that doing so would ease not only his anxiety, but also that of his friends. At least, to some extent.

People-non-druid people- tended to think of the druids as invincible folk; unaffected by emotions common in normal human beings. That they somehow were above that kind of thing. That they were stoic; completely immune to the troubles and dangers of this world. That, of course, was the most ridiculous thing Getafix had ever heard. He was just a man. Sure, a man being trained in the arts of potions, powders, healings, and spells; but he was still a man. He felt the same emotions that any other fellow would feel. He had doubts, worries, concerns, passions, angers, and hopes just as anyone does. The druids _were_ taught to understand emotions and feelings, helping them better control them, but that didn't mean they suppressed them. Many of the eldest druids were very versed in this control, appearing grim and serious. But others, such as Getafix and a good number of the other students, had yet to master the trick.

Getafix moved swiftly through the torch-lit halls of the underground fortress. He knew the way faultlessly by now. He had spent nearly all his life in Carnutes. Ever since he was nothing but a small boy he had roamed these corridors. Of course, many years had passed since then. It took years and years and _years_ to become a druid. Getafix wasn't even sure how old he was anymore. He had lost count.

The Druid Fortress of Carnutes was much like a subterranean monastery or abbey. It was a maze of passages, chambers, laboratories, and store houses. It was a safe haven; a sanctuary. But a bother to navigate. Many of the halls looked very similar, and any newcomer would find himself lost within a very short time. There were many forgotten and abandoned rooms, many of which Getafix had enjoyed exploring as a child with the other youngsters. It had been against the elder druids' liking, but, at the time, Getafix had found the adventure worth his mentor's disapproval.

That had been a long time ago. Many, many years. Since then, Getafix had gone from a rather rebellious child to a very studious and intelligent student. He had worked hard under the Venerable Druid's teaching, and had learned much. And now, today, at long last, he was to pass over from student to master. He would finally be a full-fledged druid. Though, as he raced down the halls and passageways, nearly bursting with excitement, he felt very much like a little boy once again.

Finally, after much twists and turns, Getafix made it to the end of the passage, where two large, oaken doors marked the Great Hall*. With a tug of the iron ring that served as a door handle, Getafix jerked the portal open, slipping through as it shut with a resounding _boom_ behind him.

The Great Hall was an enormous, rectangular room, with a tall ceiling and intricately designed pillars that supported the earth far overhead. It was an echo-filled place, where the sounds of a whisper could be heard like a shout. It had no windows, due to it being far deeper in the ground than Getafix's bedchamber, but it was by no means dark. Candles of all sizes where placed all over the room, even hung from the ceiling suspended by wooden circlets high above the floor. The Hall was a busy place, where most meals were served to the several dozen druids who resided in Carnutes. This morning was no exception. The room was packed with elders and students alike, all happily digging into a hearty breakfast.

Getafix quickly located his group of friends seated around the single, enormous table that was used for all. They sat together in a clump, chattering away like everyone else, discussing the excitement that the day would bring. They, like Getafix, were a good deal younger than the elder druids, but were still quite old. They all sported long, white beards of various lengths and were dressed in the common, white robes.

As Getafix approached the group, one rather overweight student looked up from the conversation, his plump face breaking into a friendly smile. He beckoned Getafix with a wave of one hand while vigorously tapping the bench beside him with the other. Getafix carefully picked his way through the noisy, crowded room, finally making it over and seating himself beside, perhaps, his closest companion in the world.

"Good morning, Getafix!" the fellow greeted. His very distinct British accent breaking through all the other voices in the Hall. He was helping himself to a very large potion of food, which he kept piled on a plate in front of him. He picked out an apple, knowing that that was all his friend required for breakfast, and handed it to Getafix, who accepted it gratefully.

"Good morning, Valuaddetax*," Getafix replied. He polished the apple against his robe, shining it up before taking a crunching bite. It was very sweet, almost too much so. "And how are you on this fine day?"

"Oh, I say! I'm just about ready to burst with excitement!" He wiggled around on the bench as if to show the possibility of that fact. "After all these years, Getafix, we're finally going to make it! We're finally going to be druids!"

"That is, of course, if we pass the final ceremony," a student to Getafix's right interjected. He was a thin fellow, who resembled Getafix in many ways, though he didn't have as much hair. He was known for being one of the less intelligent students, but he was still respected among them, though he could be unbelievably irritating. As he spoke his long, prominent nose leaned in their direction, determined to enter the conversation whether he was invited or not.

Getafix rolled his eyes skyward. "Good morning, Suffix."

"We're going to pass, just you wait," Valuaddetax said confidently. He leaned forward to grab another fruit from a nearby basket perched on the table. His arms, however, were too short, and he couldn't reach, so he gave up. "After all, chaps, we've been at this for a good many years now."

"But you very well know that not _all_ of us will pass," Suffix insisted.

Getafix didn't know why the fellow always had to be so negative. "Well," he added in while he could, "There's no use worrying about who will pass and who will not. We should be concerned with our own performance, and let the others worry about theirs. Besides, if anyone doesn't pass, it only means they aren't ready to move up and need another year of mentoring. Nothing too drastic. I wouldn't be too concerned."

_"I_ don't need to be _concerned_ at all."

The voice came from behind them. It was a deep, belittling voice, that, even after all these years, still rose the hairs on the back of Getafix's neck. Getafix didn't even need to turn around to know who it was. "Good morning, Mastix." Getafix's tone was low; controlled, but it still managed to ring with an obvious dislike of the new arrival.

Mastix was an arrogant student, and deeply disliked by nearly all the others. He was older than most of them, by a good two years or so, and used every opportunity to rub in that fact. When Getafix and Valuaddetax were children, the constant teasing and bullying had deeply bothered them; especially Valuaddetax. As they had grown older, the attacks had hurt less, as the students started to learn the ways of the druids. But, even to this day, it was unpleasant.

To the teachers and elders, Mastix was an excellent student. He worked hard, and was exceptionally brilliant; a prodigy, you might say, in the arts of magic and healing. He was more powerful than any of the other students. Not by much, you understand, but enough to lord it over the others. His strong and encouraging record gained him the honor of being one of two students to be mentored personally by the Venerable Chief Druid; the other being Getafix.

Getafix had hated every moment of it. Being taught alongside Mastix was just begging to be a target. And a target Getafix had been. Every botched up potion, every mixed up spell, and every mismatched recipe Getafix tried was always related somehow to one of Mastix's cruel pranks. Getafix had spent a number of times in his bed chamber, confined there as punishment for one of Mastix's tricks for which he'd been framed. It got so bad that even the normally mild-mannered Getafix had finally broke down and told his mentor all about it. The Venerable Druid, thankfully, believed him, punishing Mastix and putting an end to the pranks. However, it was well known among the students that, because of his telling the Venerable Druid, Mastix still carried a strong resentment toward Getafix.

"I don't have to worry, like _you_ lot do," Mastix continued, ignoring Getafix's greeting completely. He leaned over the others, snatching an apple from the basket on the table. "I will pass the ceramony like a full-fledged druid." He roughly ejected Valuaddetax from his seat, taking the spot for himself. The motion caused Valuaddetax to stumble backwards, almost falling to the floor. Mastix gave the shocked Getafix a belittling smile.

"Why did you do that?!" Getafix cried, pushing himself to his feet.

"Because I'm better than you." Mastix's voice sounded as though he were still addressing all the students, but his gaze was locked with Getafix. Mastix was talking to _him_.

When he was younger Getafix might have punched the arrogant creep in the face; but, again, years of training had replaced his aggressive nature with almost impenetrable patience. Getafix held his gaze for a moment, fixing his rival with a hard look. He didn't rise to the bait. He knew Mastix was just trying to get under his skin. Finally, with a hurried movement, he excused himself from the table and turned to leave. "Come, Valuaddetax. Let's go see how we can help above ground." And with that, he and his friend left the Great Hall.

Mastix grinned as he turned back to the table, the food now his to enjoy alone. He knew that, despite Getafix's calm and controlled mask, the old goody-goody was burning up inside. That satisfied Mastix's revengeful spirit for the time being, and so he dug into the hearty breakfast.

Beside him, on the table, in front of where Getafix had been sitting, sat an apple with only one bite out of it. Getafix had left it there; his hunger forgotten.

...

The passageway leading to the surface was narrow and steep; usually quite a bit of exercise for any of the druid folk to climb. All of the them were old, if not ancient, and, though they were all in excellent health, it was still a formidable obstacle. But as Getafix stormed upward, Valuaddetax scurrying behind him, neither noticed the exertion it required.

Valuaddetax followed Getafix, footsteps echoing in a light patter in the hall, mixing with the deeper, longer stride of his friend. He could sense the taller one's mood; and it was _dark_. It was a brooding viper coiled in Getafix's mind, fed by anger and frustration. Valuaddetax knew now wasn't a good time to speak up, but the silence was deafening. "Ah...Getafix?"

"Why does he _do_ that?!" Getafix practically exploded. He didn't turn to face his friend, but continued his way up the passage. "There was no need for it! He's an adult! We're all adults! His behavior isn't fitting of a two year old _brat_!" He suddenly stopped and turned, almost causing Valuaddetax to crash into him. "And the way he pulled you from the table! I ask you, is that the image of a grown, soon-to-be druid?!" His anger softened when he noticed his friend's worried, almost frightened face and he sighed. "I'm sorry, Valuaddetax. I didn't mean to lose control. It's just...just so _upsetting_."

His shorter, pudgier friend nodded in agreement. "He does it to annoy you."

"I know. And he seems to be doing a pretty good job."

"Oh, I don't know, Old Bean...I thought you handled it quite well."

Getafix snorted. "On the outside, maybe."

"Either way, it's over now. We might as well forget it since we can't do a thing about it." He grinned up and his friend and Getafix felt his anger slowly melt away.

Getafix gave a fond chuckle. "Alright. Let's go find Prolix."

Going above ground was always a rather blinding experience. Though the chambers below were by no means dark, they were still considerably more so than the world above. As the two friends emerged from the passage entrance, they spent a good few moments blinking rapidly; trying to adjust their eyes to the sudden, normal sunlight. Once they achieved full use of their vision again, they headed off into the forest in search of their old friend; an ancient druid who had taken a liking to all the students through the years, and was well liked in return.

Prolix was old and bent. In his hand he always gripped a knotted branch; his own version of a cane. He was known as a fantastic storyteller; having spent many a cold winter night telling tales to the students by firelight in the Great Hall. He was kindhearted and had a certain brightness; a cheerfulness about him that made you like him the second you met him. His big, bushy, white eyebrows hung over his clear blue eyes. The orbs twinkled in merriment, and the old fellow was often heard bursting out in laughter at the slightest thing. Prolix was everybody's friend. Though, he could be a bit odd.

Getafix and Valuaddetax found the ancient druid nearby, picking a series of berries for the ceremony later that evening. He glanced up when he heard them coming, his large eyebrows rising up on his bald head. He waved them over excitedly, already his cheerful nature washing away the anger and despair Getafix had felt only just a moment before. "Come! Come, my brothers, and look!" He continued to beckon until the two younger men were standing beside him.

"What is it, Prolix?" Valuaddetax asked, peering around to see what all the excitement was about.

"Ah!" Prolix cried, spreading his arms wide as if to show them the whole world. "You do not see! You think with what you see and taste and smell. But you do not use your _senses_! You must take in the world in a new way, or an old way, but some way that is besides the senses. For you see, the senses can be deceiving."

Getafix and Valuaddetax blinked at him, not having understood a single word. Prolix was known for his way of rambling on. Many attributed it to the fact that he was so old. Of course, that opinion was given by a group of druids well over their eighties, who were, by no means, young. Often what Prolix said was confusing, unrelated gibberish; sentences strung together as a series of unfinished thoughts, unless he was telling a story. But, over time, Getafix had found that, though the words might be mixed and mismatched, they usually had some hidden meaning. A lessen cryptically woven through the sentences, just begging to be decoded.

Getafix raised an eyebrow at the druid. "How can we use our senses, as you say, and yet not use them?" He gave Prolix a smirk, knowing that there was a reason behind the words. He could see it in the elder's eyes. A sort of twinkle that smiles out at him.

Prolix let loose one of his hearty laughs. "Ah, Getafix! You are a funny lad; and I like that." He smiled. "You trust the senses that everyone trusts. The eyes, the ears, the nose...But there are other senses."

"Other senses?" Valuaddetax piped up. Prolix was always willing to teach to anyone, student or no, that would listen. Or even if they weren't listening. Luckily, he was an interesting fellow to converse with, and the students often found his company fascinating.

Prolix looked at him as though he had forgotten the pudgy student had been there. "Yes. There are two. One is your knowledge; what you know to be true. You _know_ it is dangerous to go outside in the forest after dark. Therefore, you sense that you should not go outside after dark, lest something bad should happen. To go against this knowledge, by going outside after dark anyway, would make that sense stronger. Like running your hand the wrong way over a plank of splintered woood, you would be more aware of your error than if you stroked it the right way." He paused to take a breath, looking at the two students curiously; like he was wondering why they were there.

After a moment of silence, Getafix urged, "Well?"

"Well, what?"

"What's the second 'other' sense?"

Prolix looked confused for a second, but then his face lit up in remembrance. "Ah, yes! The second; it is the most unique of all!" He fairly danced with pleasure. "It is the sense of _feeling_."

Valuaddetax tilted his head. "You mean, the sense of touch?"

"No, no, nononono!" Prolix shook his head vigorously. "That is not it at all! The sense of feeling isn't something that can be touched. It is a feeling; an emotion. Often one that cannot be explained. Like when you _feel_ like you're being watched, or you _feel_ like something is going to happen, good or bad. I believe many would call it...intuition. It is not a conscious sense, but rather one that comes to you suddenly, and without warning; with no apparent reason."

"Hmm." Getafix let the words sink into his memory, figuring they would make sense to him eventually. "Very interesting, Prolix, but why are you telling us this?"

The ancient druid gave a chuckle and shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know...but, it's safe to say, I had a _feeling_ I should tell you." His grin widened at their confused stares before he suddenly turned, shuffling off through the underbrush at a frighteningly fast pace. "Now, come on you two!" he called back as he disappeared from sight. "We've got a lot to do before that ceremony this evening! And I'm going to need some assistance!"

Valuaddetax and Getafix exchanged glances before giving a chuckle of their own, dashing off through the forest to find and 'aid' the supposedly 'frail' little druid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Great Halls where actually very common during the Middle Ages. It was often the main room of a palace, castle, or abbey, during that time. It doesn't really fit, period-wise, in the Asterix timeline, but it was what I was looking for, so I used it. :)
> 
> *Valuaddetax is a druid from the album Asterix and the Goths, where Getafix introduced him as "an old friend and colleague, the British Druid, Valuaddetax." Suffix is also from the same album.
> 
> So there it is, the second chapter. Might be a little slow at first; I've got a lot of things in this story that need explaining, including introducing new characters. I hope it was alright. Please comment and let me know what you think. :)
> 
> THANK YOU!


	3. Disaster

The day flew by at an incredible rate. But that was, in part, due to the fact that both Getafix and Valuaddetax were kept so busy they didn't have a chance to think about the time. They helped in the kitchens. They helped in the forest. They assisted in collecting herbs and various other items. They even helped set the large table above ground in a green clearing not far from the passage entrance. Thankfully, they weren't the only students offering to do their part, and soon the forest was full of the white-clad men. They worked, decorated, and planned for the days upcoming festivities. The excitement was literally a buzz in the air; a contagious jittery happiness that seemed to have infected them all.

Getafix managed to stay as far away from Mastix as possible. He had had as much of the arrogant man as he could take in a day, and feared another encounter would provoke a rather violent reaction on his part. And so, Getafix worked hard; taking up tasks that kept him well out of Mastix's reach, and kept Mastix out of his. It wouldn't due to get in a fight; not this close to the ceremony. Getafix had studied too hard for too long to be set back now. He couldn't afford to not pass and be sent back to being mentored for another year. And Getafix knew Mastix would like to see nothing more than his rival disgraced in any way, shape, or form.

Getafix was determined not to give him the chance.

Soon the sun began to set. Lanterns were hung all around the glen, lighting it up so brilliantly that it looked as though the sun had never left. The druids and their students gathered around the immense table. They tucked into the feast with a will; talking and laughing as the food was presented and promptly devoured. There was roast boar, rabbit stew, strawberry scones with butter, and a large verity of nuts, berries, and leafy green vegetables. Wines and cordials were opened by the cask, all different flavors. There was a good portion of elderberry wine, as well as hazel nut wine, cherry wine, and, of course, ordinary grape wine. The fermented juice was handed out in moderation, so as not to cause anyone to be intoxicated. They all wanted their heads to be clear for the ceremony, for their is nothing quite so dangerous as an inebriated druid performing spells.

The cordials too where handed out in moderation. There was strawberry cordial, raspberry cordial, blueberry cordial, and an impressive number of other flavors, many of which where made of fruits non-druids probably had never even known existed.

Dessert was even more stupendous. Cakes and pies of various types were laid out all across the table. Apple, pear, and peach cobblers, still steaming hot from the ovens assaulted everyone's nostrils with an almost overpoweringly divine aroma. Sugared scones, far sweeter than the dinner biscuits, were presented. They were the last things to be eaten; filling in the small gaps that some still felt in their stomachs.

When the feasting had slowed down to a light grazing, the Venerable Chief Druid slowly stood from his seat. He held his hands out, palms facing upward as though he were expecting it to rain. It was the gesture for everyone to listen, and, a moment later, all the talking, laughing, and munching died out to silence. The Venerable Druid nodded his appreciation. "Thank you, brothers. Thank you. But as you might have guessed, it is time to get on with the ceremony." He withdrew a scroll from the folds of his robe, unrolling and squinting at it, trying to read his own, nearly unintelligible handwriting. "The first student is...Valuaddetax." He looked up, peering around the table, looking for the lucky candidate.

Valuaddetax felt anything but lucky as he sank lower into his seat, trying to make himself as small as possible. He suddenly felt terribly anxious; more so than he had expected himself to be. He felt unprepared and incredibly embarrassed. His mind drew a blank, and he couldn't even remember the spell he had practiced. He probably would have stayed that way indefinitely, if not for the kind hand that was all at once resting gently on his shoulder. Looking up with a startled jump, Valuaddetax found it was Getafix.

His taller friend gave him an encouraging smile, squeezing his shoulder ever so slightly. He didn't say anything, and yet, Getafix didn't have to. Valuaddetax knew he had his friend's support, and somehow that made everything a whole lot better. With a grateful nod, the pudgy man rose from his seat and made his way to the center of the clearing. He gave a cough to clear his throat, sending one last glance at Getafix before pulling out a small, brown pouch, tied carefully with string, out from his robe.

"This is a powder," he began, in his nervous condition, stating the obvious. He coughed again and continued. "I was taught this spell by my mentor, the honorable Druid Immix." He sent his straight-faced teacher a quick look, before taking a deep breath to finally get control of his nerves. With a smooth, precise movement he untied the string from the pouch and flung the contents into the air in a circular pattern.

The wind kicked up, taking hold of the auburn-colored dust. It shot off in all directions, pushed by some invisible whirlwind. The force flew over the heads of the observers, up into the treetops. The sound of the powder hitting the leaves was audible as it settled, giving a soft tinkling of tiny particles. The wind changed direction, blowing clockwise around the clearing. The trees swayed with the strong breeze, bending and creaking under its influence.

All at once, starting on the opposite side of the glen, a change started to come over the trees. The leaves, which were lush and green, started to fade to a pale yellow. The color shifted, spreading to all the timber on the edge of the clearing. It jumped gracefully from tree to tree, completely surrounding the druids in golden leaves. As the transformation made it back to its starting point, the color changed again; this time to a deep red. The action was repeated; going through various shades of orange, peach, and a soft, nearly translucent pink. When the last autumn color had come full circle, the leaves faded back to their original, lime green. The wind died down, and, a moment later, it was as if nothing had happened at all.

The druids let out a collective sigh of approval. It had been a beautiful spell, perfectly executed. There was a round of applause, highlighted by wise words and calls of encouragement. When the noise died down, the Venerable Chief Druid gave a nod and a smile to the still fidgety Valuaddetax. "You, Valuaddetax, have passed the required training and ceremony. You are now a Druid, and will be honored as such in this Forest of Carnutes, and beyond it." There was a hearty cheer from the students and a genuinely proud congratulations from the elders.

Valuaddetax returned to his seat, his face all aglow. Getafix patted his shoulder again, this time in congratulation.

The next hour and a half was a series of successful spells and failed attempts. Most of the students had prepared well for the ceremony; having practiced until they knew their spell backwards and forwards. Others, such a Suffix, who weren't quite as studious as the rest, were told that they would need to endure another year or so of mentoring.

Chantings, potions, and powders filled the clearing with colorful smoke as spell after spell was presented one by one. There were invisibility spells, speed spells, time spells, weather spells, growth spells, and even a youth spell. All of them were temporary, of course; lasting fifteen minutes at the longest. As each student gave their piece, the elder druids either applauded or gave helpful advice. Soon, the number of students who hadn't yet performed dwindled down to two; Getafix and Mastix.

The Venerable Druid glanced back at his scroll once more. "Second to last is Getafix," he called.

Mastix sent his rival a formidable glare as Getafix eased himself up from his place at the table. Just as all those before him had done, he made his way to the center of the clearing. On the outside he appeared calm and confident, but on the inside he was practically cringing with anxiety. He managed to keep the consuming nerves under control, focusing all his energy into each step of his performance. All other thoughts and concerns he forced from his mind; placing himself fully in the moment. Taking a pouch from his robe, just as Valuaddetax had done, Getafix untied the string. "My name is Getafix," he called out. " My mentor is the Venerable Chief Druid." With that he gave a quick, upward jerk of his arm, sending the powder contained in the pouch straight up into the air.

It had a distinctly reddish tint to it. It sparkled in the lantern light, shimmering as it dispersed into the cooling night air. It seemed to dissolve; becoming less and less until it had disappeared completely. For a moment, nothing happened. The clearing was as still and quiet as a church. Most people would have laughed; claiming that the spell had not worked. But druids know that often times a spell does not work all at once. Sometimes there is a short delay in between the performance and the result.

That was the case with this particular spell. After a short time, which felt more like an eternity to Getafix, the druids began to see a change come over the clearing. It started near where the powder had deminished, starting as a golden flicker in the grass, the size of a lightening bug glow. It began to grow steadily, pulsating like the beat of a heart. Suddenly, in a shock wave of warm light and energy, it enveloped the entire glen; table, druids, trees, and food. The force was gentle, only strong enough to blow out all the lanterns. And yet, they were not plunged into darkness. The entire party was abruptly shielded in a bubble of daylight. Above, beyond the cover of light, the stars were still visible, though it goes beyond all scientific understanding. The druids blinked in the sudden sunshine that came from all around them, despite it being well after sunset.

The beautiful, unexpected brightness suddenly diminished, retracting back to its starting point at an incredible speed, relighting the lanterns as it did so. It happened so fast that if left the druids in a mix of silent shock and wondrous awe. A moment of quiet, and then the assembly rose to their feet, applauding and congratulating Getafix on his magnificent performance, and of the Venerable Druid's fine teaching. Getafix blushed ever so slightly at their praise, completely missing the look of pure hatred that Mastix was directing at his back.

"Getafix," the Venerable Druid said proudly, "You, have passed the required training and ceremony. You are now a Druid, and will be honored as such in this Forest of Carnutes, and beyond it." Again there was a mighty round of cheering and congratulations. Feeling rather embarrassed by all the attention, Getafix made it back to his seat as quickly as was suitable for a real, full-fledged druid.

"Mastix, you shall finish the ceremony." The Venerable Druid's voice was tinted with obvious expectation. Mastix, like Getafix, was quite a skilled individual. The elders expected a fantastic presentation from him. Though, it would be difficult to outshine Getafix's magnificent performance.

Mastix rose majestically from his seat, moving to the clearing's center with balanced grace. He stood erect, and at ease; lacking the appearance of anxiety. In fact, he wasn't even inwardly nervous. His confidence showed in his stance; visible in the steady way he took in his audience with a slightly superior air. He wasn't intimidated in the least by the watching eyes ready to judge his unquestionable skill. He knew he was the best of the students; the most powerful.

And he was about to prove it.

"I am Mastix," he began grandly, as though at his name all the world would bow before him. "I am student to our most Venerable Chief Druid." His voice was deep, filling the glen with the low, fullness of its tone. Mastix smiled, and, for a moment, he actually seemed like a rather pleasant fellow. "For my presentation, I have been taught, and have practiced, a spell for the transformation of the temperature. It is a very simple trick." The last part of his sentence was said scornfully, as if the mere thought of such an easy task was insulting to his intelligence. "But I have, with the Venerable Druid's permission, a spell of my own choice."

It was a rather rare request. Or, at least, as close to a request as Mastix's arrogant character would allow. But it was his right as a druidic student to choose to either take a spell chosen by his mentor or one of his own decision. Getafix, himself might have chosen to do the same thing if he had been successful in the previous night's experiments. To choose to do one's own choice of a spell was by no means rude to one's mentor. It just didn't happen very often. Most students were satisfied, and trusted, their teacher's suggestion.

Even so, Getafix felt the hairs rise on the back of his neck. The request might not be against the rules; and even though it normally wouldn't be insulting, for some reason it seemed extremely disrespectful to Getafix. Maybe that was because Getafix, oddly enough, knew Mastix better than anyone else. He knew his darker, crueler side of his fellow student better than anyone else. The thought that Mastix had chosen a spell that matched his own warped taste was not only suspicious, but frightening.

The Venerable Druid raised an eyebrow. He didn't seem offended; in fact, he looked curious. With a slow nod of his head he gave his permission.

Mastix was pleased. He rubbed his hands together vigorously as he let his eyes wander over the assembly until they settled on a familiar, old, bent figure. "Prolix, in order to perform my spell I will need your assistance."

The eldest druid lifted his thick eyebrows in question. "Me?"

"Is there anyone else here named Prolix?" Mastix snorted impatiently.

Prolix got himself up from the table, grumbling all the while about 'manners' and 'respecting the elderly'. He moved at a snails pace; slowly making his way to the center of the clearing. Getafix knew he was doing it purposely to annoy Mastix. Getafix had seen Prolix move at surprising speeds, like earlier that morning, and he was certain the old druid could have moved at a faster rate now if he chose.

Finally, after a long series of mumblings and shuffling, Prolix took up his position next to a thoroughly exasperated Mastix. The student moved away from the elder, seeming to count out a certain distance that, the others assumed, was required for whatever spell he was about to perform.

"And now," Mastix said grandly, "I shall begin."

Rolling up his pure white sleeves, Mastix resumed a braced stance; like a sailor bracing for the impact of an oncoming storm. He turned, facing Prolix, who was a good four or five yards from him. Mastix's face seemed to harden in intense, focused concentration; his eyes never once leaving Prolix's bent form. Everyone in the clearing became silent, respectfully watching; giving the student their full attention.

Mastix lifted his arms, pointing them toward the star-studded sky. A mischievous smirk slowly spread over his face as he opened his mouth and spoke in a deep, monotone voice.

"Bhfianaise istigh de chroí agus anam,

Óir i gcomparáid thar,

Deontas dom mo mhaith, mo sprioc,

An chumhacht anois a dhéanamh a roinnt.

Tóg uaidh agus a thabhairt dom,

An chumhacht sin a lorg mé,

Mar sin, beidh mé do gach duine a fheiceáil,

Fear gan lag a thuilleadh!"*

Getafix had felt an uneasy feeling twisting in the pit of his stomach since the moment Mastix had taken his place in the center of the clearing. A sort of nervous energy that, for some reason, made him want to stop Mastix from performing the ceremony. But seeing all the others happily conversing and watching; hearing the calls of the animals in the calm forest, and the tranquil night breeze blowing through the trees, Getafix pushed the feeling aside. Nothing was wrong. Everything around them was light and cheery. Perfectly safe...

And then the scene changed so suddenly that it left Getafix immobile with shock.

As the dark chant left Mastix's lips, the elder druids' eyes widened in horror. The mentors and teachers sprang to their feet, knocking over cups of wine and benches in their sudden, fear-fed haste; leaving the students alone and puzzled at the table. The Venerable Druid, normally a calm and graceful presence, was shouting; crying out in the chaos for Mastix to stop. But it was already too late.

The atmosphere of happy gathering had all at once gone dark. Not physically dark, but dark nonetheless. Even though the lanterns still burned bright, somehow, their warm glow was suppressed; dimmed by a black fog that had suddenly settled in the clearing. Even the twinkling stars above them winked from existence, blocked out by the ominous mist. That haze began to glow with its own eerie light; a gathering shade of electric blue.

Before anyone could do a thing about it, the glow seemed to absorb into Mastix, causing him to shine with an intense glare into the eyes of the panicked druids. Mastix redirected his arms, moving them from above his head to pointing directly toward the terrified Prolix. The old man's eyes were wide in disbelief, and he couldn't seem to get his body to move out of the way. He couldn't move in any way; just stare in fear as the next stage of the spell was executed.

The blue light left Mastix's hands like a lightening bolt; zig-zagging across the clearing in all directions, but following a very clear path. The intense brightness caused the druids and their students to flinch back, covering their eyes with cries of surprise and pain. But that was nothing compared to the scream the broke out a moment later.

The bolt had hit Prolix straight in the chest.

That was when the students realized why their mentors and elders were suddenly so uncharacteristically frightened. They too jumped from their seats, struggling forward, hoping to help. The sight and sound of Prolix being attacked fueled them with terror and rage. But try as they might, they couldn't come any closer than three yards of Mastix or Prolix.

The Venerable Druid was still trying to make his way toward the pair in the clearing's center, but the force of the strong magic happening all around him prevented him from getting close enough. He watched in terror as the bridge of energy between Mastix and Polix changed from that eerie blue to a sinister green. "Stop! Mastix, by Toutatis! Please, stop!"

Prolix was still standing there, face frozen in a grimace of agony. He couldn't move; he couldn't breath. He felt something within him being ripped away; torn from his soul. It hurt more than anything he had ever felt in his life. His energy was literally draining away, leaving him weaker and weaker. And yet, he couldn't even fall to his knees. The force of the energy surging forcibly through him held him up, locked standing with no power over his mobility.

Mastix was unaware of the chaos around him. All he knew was the warm, strengthening feeling that was filling his body. It was wonderful; immense waves of immeasurable power soaking into his being. He could feel himself gaining Prolix's strength; gaining something he couldn't explain. He didn't realize the pain his spell was inflicting on the elderly druid four yards in front of him. He didn't hear the screams or the pleading cries for him to end the spell. He didn't even truly see the incrediable amount of blue energy he seemed to be channeling. All he saw was a sort of blurred haze. All sound was muffled and soft; except the beating of his own heart which pounded in his ears. All his senses were dulled and reduced. All but his ability to feel. The fantastic feeling of uncomprehendable power filling him; completing him.

Suddenly, that sense of powerful control shifted. Like tripping over a stone, Mastix felt it stumble. The strength began to weaken as his grip on the spell slowly started to slip away. He tried to refocus his attention; gain a better footing, but he couldn't. The spell was too strong. It was wiggling away from him. He was loosing control. The beautiful, wonderful power began to leave him again. He hung on to it with every once of his strength, but he couldn't keep it. It made him angry; but also filled him with panic. That power had been his, and he wanted it back.

Getafix continued to try and reach Prolix. With every bit of his stubborn nature, the new druid struggled forward a step, then two, only to be pushed back a moment later by the force of the spell. His friend had gone deathly pale, the green light digging into his chest like a spear. Why was Mastix doing this?! Polix had never hurt anybody! Everyone liked the eldest druid. How could Mastix do something so horrible?! Getafix shifted his panicked eyes toward his rival, noticing the calm, almost relaxed way that Mastix was absorbing the energy, pulling it right from Prolix's body. A thought came to Getafix, making him wonder if Mastix knew what was happening; what he was doing to Prolix.

Suddenly, the energy changed to a mix of warring blue and green bolts. The force blowing around the clearing increased, pushing the druids back further and giving them no choice but to latch onto anything solidly fixed. The energy became spastic; more violent, and the look of peace was gone from Mastix's face. It was replaced by one of pained concentration. Like he was struggling to wrestle with some strong force, and was losing.

"The spell is too strong for him!" the Venerable Druid shouted to Getafix through the noise, even though he was right beside him. "He can't control it!"

As if on cue, there was a tremendous sound, like thunder. It boomed out of the clearing, probably audible for miles. The blue and green lightening broke off from between the two men, branching out like an explosion all around them. The force threw the other druids to the ground. The wind picked up and the ground shook as though it would pull apart. The cacophony of energy and power reached its full zenith and then suddenly...it ended.

Everything just stopped. The dark fog lifted; the stars reappeared in the sky above, and the lanterns, still lit, returned to their former glory. The silence was deafening. One could have heard a pin drop in the quiet clearing. All was still. All except Prolix and Mastix.

The eldest druid, no longer held up by the inescapable force stumbled back, his eyes rolling back in his head as he fell like a stone to the hard ground. He lay there, utterly still; unmoving.

Mastix also fell, though he was still conscious. He collapsed forward to his knees; dazed and blinking rapidly. The remaining echoes of that glorious power still humming through his veins. It was almost maddening to lose it. He vaguely began to become aware of the large gathering of white blotches in front of him. Rubbing a fist in either eye, his vision finally cleared. What he saw made his blood run cold.

Before him was a crowd of druids; every mentor and every student was kneeling beside the body of another white-clad figure. Only this figure wasn't moving. He wasn't breathing. Prolix.

The Venerable Druid was supporting his lifetime friend's head, rocking back and forth in anguish. The chief druid's normally wise, controlled expression was filled with a mix of grief and shock. His eyes lifted and met Mastix's own confused stare. Even though he spoke softly, Mastix heard every word.

"...Prolix is...is dead..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * "Inner Light of heart and soul,
> 
> Gold beyond compare,
> 
> Grant to me my want, my goal,
> 
> This power now do share.
> 
> Take from him and give to me,
> 
> That power that I seek,
> 
> So I will be for all to see,
> 
> A man no longer weak!"
> 
> Whew, this was hard and intense to write. 
> 
> If this chapter leaves you asking questions, that's good, because, hopefully, they're supposed to be answered in the chapters to come. All the same, if anything doesn't quite make sense, I value my readers' advice and/or friendly criticism. :)
> 
> Alright, that's that. Let me know what you think!


	4. Wrath

Getafix sat silent and alone in the laboratory deep within the recesses of the druidic fortress beneath the Forest of Carnutes. He didn't move, other than the slow rhythm of his breathing. He didn't want to move; he couldn't move. He felt frozen. An icy grip of horror still gripped his heart, scenes of the dreadful ceremony still running ceaselessly through his mind. He wanted it to stop. For it all to have been some odd and terrible dream, and that he would wake up at any moment. But it wasn't a dream. It was a living nightmare, from which there was no escape.

Prolix was dead. That was still hard to accept, but it was true. The comical little old fellow had probably died before he had even hit the ground. And even though druids are powerful folk, there is no spell for reviving the deceased. Once the soul leaves the body, there was nothing to be done. They had done all they could.

Memories of Prolix filled Getafix's heart with sadness. He tried to remember some of the old timer's teachings, but his mind refused to do so; too shocked to fully comprehend anything other than a feeling of utter hopelessness. This was not what he had pictured his first night as a full-fledged druid to be like. He had envisioned joyous celebration; laughing; feasting. For more years than Getafix could count, he had waited for this day. And now that it had come, he found himself wishing that it had never taken place at all. Again the event played in his mind.

When the Venerable Druid had proclaimed that Prolix was dead, there had been a long, terrible silence. Mastix stood, eyes wide in disbelief, hands held out in front of him as if they were stained with blood. It was the first time Getafix had ever seen his rival look honestly and truly frightened. And he knew right then that he had been correct; Mastix hadn't been aware of what his spell would do to Prolix. He was as shocked as they were. But that didn't make him innocent.

The elders had taken Mastix to the Council room, where they stayed for two hours. When they emerged, they announced their decision regarding the younger student. Mastix still had that look of shock on his face, as if he still couldn't believe it was all happening. They had brought him to the Great Hall, where everyone had gathered, to proclaim his fate and punishment.

The Venerable Druid had stepped forward, turning to face the assembly. His stance had been calm and controlled, but his voice shook with unexpressed emotion, and it was more than obvious. His words still echoed in Getafix's head.

"Mastix, son of Kylix, what you have done here tonight is inexcusable. You have murdered not only a fellow human being, but a fellow druid. Since that has never happened, it took us long to decide what to do with you." As he had spoken, the Venerable Druid had kept his eyes locked with Mastix's own. "And so, it is the belief of this society, that you be banished from Carnutes as an outsider. You may never become a druid; for where an evil is done, evil is sure to grow." He had dropped his gaze the second he had finished, as if he couldn't look Mastix in the eyes any longer.

Mastix's face had remained aghast for several moment. Not a person had moved in the Great Hall. All had reigned in silence.

Suddenly, Mastix's expression had begun to change. Pure anger replaced his shock, and his hands clenched at his side. All at once he looked very frightening, and the druids had backed away from him instinctively. Mastix had shot out a hand, finger pointed directly toward his ex-mentor. "This is not over!" He had screeched, causing everyone to back away further. "I am more powerful then any of you fools! There will be a time when you will remember this day, and you will regret what you have done! YOU WILL REGRET IT!" In a twirl of his cape, Mastix had suddenly disappeared. An invisibility spell. The elders had begun searching immediately, determined to find the rebellious student and escort him out of Carnutes.

Getafix had felt, all at once, very overwhelmed. He had made his way down to the laboratory, where he could be alone with his jumbled thoughts. And so he sat, silent and in solitude, deep within the recesses of the druidic fortress beneath the Forest of Carnutes. He didn't move, other than the slow rhythm of his breathing. And he still felt overwhelmed.

"Getafix?"

The voice startled him, causing him to flinch back instinctively when a hand was lain gently on his shoulder. He glanced up, finding his mentor's worn, troubled face gazing down at him. "Oh, O Venerable Druid, it is only you. I was afraid it might be...might be..."

"Mastix? There's no fear of that. He is long gone."

Getafix nodded sadly, and the two men lapsed into silence. After several moments had passed, Getafix got up the courage to speak. "Venerable Druid? I-I don't understand why Mastix did what he did...I feel like there are pieces missing; that there's more to this than I'm seeing. How did he gain so much power? How could he lose control like that and...and kill Prolix?"

The Venerable Druid gave his only remaining student a fond look. "You were always very perceptive, Getafix." The smile faded, and his face took on a deep, serious expression.

Mastix had been one of the druid's students. To lose Mastix was like losing a son. Getafix couldn't imagine the pain such a terrible turn of events must be causing him.

"You are right," the teacher continued. "There is far more to this then you know. Something that goes far back. Back to the days when I was nothing more than a child, apprenticing in these very halls."

Getafix blinked, trying to imagine how long ago that might have been, but couldn't. "Something happened? Something that has to do with what happened tonight?"

The Venerable Druid nodded slowly. His eyes took on a faraway look, as though he were reviewing that 'something' in his mind. He was quiet for a long while, before turning to Getafix once more. "Have you ever heard of the Book of Olc?"

Getafix shook his head.

"It was a volume, old and very worn, that once belonged to a Druid within Carnutes. His name has long since been forgotten. He kept in this volume an account of spells." The Venerable Druid waved a hand toward the dusty shelves around them. "But not like these. The spells that he kept were dark and dangerous. Evil. They contained monstrous powers. When the other druids found out that this man held in his possession a book of spells containing such terrible tricks and spells, they took the book from him and burned it, or so it was reported. It was believed to be destroyed...But, apparently, it was not."

"What do you mean?" Getafix asked, his eyes wide and all his attention focused on the tale. He felt there was a connection between this nameless druid's old book, and the incident with Mastix.

"Within that book there had been one spell, so unthinkably terrible, that that one spell alone was cause enough to destroy the volume. It was a spell for extracting a magnificent power called the Solas Anam."

Getafix raised an eyebrow, trying the words out himself. "Solas Anam?"

"The Soul Light." The Venerable Druid took a deep breath. "Every so often, Getafix, a person is born with a special gift. They exhibit a wonderful strength, but not as we think of such. They are kind and full of immeasurable courage. They seem to affect all around them, like a bright light in the midst of darkness. Just as some are gifted with a fine voice, or a steady hand, or even in spells, as you do; some are born with this gift. The Solas Anam. These people are called Teaghais, or Dwellers. They are very rare. Only a few have ever been known to exist." The Venerable Druid's face became dark once again. "The Book of Olc contained a spell for extracting that power from a Teaghais. It is a terrible spell that grants the one who casts it to gain the Dweller's gift. In the hands of a Dweller, the gift is special; magnificent...But in the hands of an unworthy heart, it becomes dangerous and deadly. The process of extraction is fatal to a the Dweller."

Getafix was starting to make the connection. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. He felt confused and uncertain. He even felt a little angry. Angry that all this had been kept from him all these years; that no one had ever told him. But he tried to remember that the elders had thought the book had been destroyed and forgotten. There had been no need to carry on such stories of evil. All the same, Getafix felt frustration turning toward the elders for keeping it a secret. "So you're saying Mastix somehow found this...this Book of Olc and used the spell on Prolix?" Something else clicked in the new druid's brain. "That means that Prolix was a..."

"A Dweller. Yes. One of the very few that have ever lived." The Venerable Druid ran a tired hand down his wrinkled face. "I should have known better. There were signs, but I ignored them. Mastix wanted nothing more than to impress the council and become one of the most powerful Druids of all time. And I believe he had the potential to do it. He must have come across the Book somehow. There are many passages and rooms long forgotten deep beneath us. Perhaps the book was conserved, or rewritten, and hidden far within the catacombs of our fortress. I do not know...But Mastix must have found that spell, and then found out that Prolix was a Seaghais. Wanting to impress, he must have learned the spell for the ceremony."

The two druids remained silent for a moment. Then Getafix spoke softly. "Do you think Mastix knew it would kill Prolix?"

The Venerable Druid shook his head sadly. "No. His face showed no malice or indication that he knew. But that changes nothing. Once one's heart has been exposed to such an evil spell, his want for power will grow. That was why we had to banish him. He was a danger to our Order. To our very lives."

Getafix nodded. "Then he can't hurt anyone else." It was a statement, not a question. But then Getafix noted the look of sorrow and fear that flitted across his mentor's face. "What is it? What's wrong?" He had a terrible feeling welling up inside him that suddenly surged to the surface. "Oh, by Toutatis...He's got the Book...Hasn't he?"

The Venerable Druid nodded sagely. "He must. We were unable to find it. Nor him. He has fled with the Book of Olc clutched in his hands. And it contains many other dark spells beside the spell of Extraction."

"But what does that m-" Suddenly a rumbling cut of Getafix's sentence. A deep, earthly rumbling; one that started low and far off, but slowly made its way toward them. It gained strength as it neared. The vibrations began to grow in magnitude, and the many cups and powders in the laboratory began to rattle and spill. All at once there was a sound like thunder, just like there had been earlier that night in the clearing. The force of it knocked the two druids to the floor. The room was shaking; rocking like a boat on high, churning seas.

"What's happening?!" Getafix yelled, trying to avoid the heavy, falling shelves of books that were tumbling to the ground where he lay on the floor. "Is it an earthquake?!" He had heard of such things, but never had he experienced one. It felt as though the earth would pull itself apart.

The Venerable Druid stumbled to his feet, lurching forward to help Getafix up off the ground. "Yes, but it is no ordinary one!" The druid was yelling, but with all the noise, Getafix could hardly hear him. "This is Mastix's doing!"

Getafix's heart was gripped with an icy fear. Mastix had been unpleasant as a rival. As an enemy, he was down right insane! If the earthquake was indeed sent by his ex-fellow student, then they were all in serious trouble!

Dust and chunks of earth began to fall from the ceiling, causing the druids to cough and choke. Taking a hold of his mentor's arm, Getafix began to steer him toward the door. "We have to get out of here!" They made it out of the laboratory just as there was a great rush of grit and air. In a cascading avalanche of rock and dirt, the laboratory roof collapsed, burying the room beneath a pile of immovable soil.

They raced through the passages, ducking around falling stones and coughing on the dusty air. At each tremble the ground felt as though it were being snatched from beneath their feet, and they'd either fall to the ground or against the wall, still struggling forward in a race to make it out alive. As they made it into the main tunnels they were joined by other panicked persons, many of which were students helping their mentors. Their eyes were wide in terror as they raced, their once pure, white robes and beards soiled a dark, dirty brown.

Just when Getafix thought it couldn't possibly get any worse, there was suddenly a great explosion. Luckily it was from behind them and not from in front of them. It was a tremendous blast, deafening within the small confines of the passages. A moment later, there was another, closer this time. Then another, further away; and another; and another. It took Getafix several explosions to finally figure out what was happening. The various laboratories that that dotted the underground fortress had always been filled with potions and chemicals of various kinds; all quite powerful. The explosions must be caused by the potions mixing with each other as room after room collapsed. The force of each blast was equal to, if not more powerful than, the earth rending shakes beneath them.

After what seemed like an eternity, Getafix and the Venerable Druid broke out of the passage's entrance, stepping out into the world above ground. Getafix had hoped that somehow, everything would be better there, safe from the choking dust and smoke. But he had been wrong.

The Forest was in the midst of the worst storm any of the druids had ever witnessed. Lightening streaked across the sky, lighting up the trees whipping to the side in a force of wind Getafix had never experienced. It was if the great trunks would be uprooted and thrown aside, plucked from the soil like a child might pick a daisy. The sky was dark, the stars blocked from sight for the second time that evening.

The druids who had made it above ground gathered around the Venerable Druid, panicked and dirty, trembling with fear and horror. They were unsure of what to do. Their world was being ripped to shreds; collapsing beneath the soil below them. They looked to their leader; hoping he would know what to do. Getafix began taking a mental count of those present, and was glad to see Valuaddetax among them.

The Venerable Druid was counting those under his care as well; surprised but relieved to find that no one was missing. He looked into their wild eyes, trying to come to a decision. They couldn't stay here. Mastix's wrath was upon this place, and to stay would be madness. They would be killed.

"We must flee Carnutes!" he shouted above the storm. "We have no choice! Go, find someplace to live until it is safe! Scatter, so you will be harder for Mastix to find! Go!"

The druids didn't need to be told twice. They scattered in all directions; some heading for the Eastern side of the forest, where they could escape to their neighbor, Senones*. While others fled for the forest's Southern and Northern borders. Getafix could only hope that they would all make it out alive. He saw Valuaddetax pause, looking back toward him. Getafix waved for him to go, wanting his pudgy friend to have a chance.

The Venerable Druid turned to Getafix, who was still supporting his mentor's side. "You too, Getafix!"

"I'm staying!"

"Don't be ridiculous! You'll be killed! Now go!" When Getafix still refused to move, the Venerable Druid's stern glare became a sad plea. "Please, Getafix...I can't stand to lose another friend tonight."

Getafix stared into his eyes for a moment, still resolute, before he let his gaze drop to the ground. He gave a slight nod as he released his teacher's arm reluctantly. "But what about you?"

The elder druid gave a weak smile. "I will head South."

"Then so shall I-"

"No!" The Venerable Druid gripped his only remaining student's shoulders tightly. "We must be separate. I am the one who banished Mastix. It is me he will be after. If you come with me, he will attack you as well. That mustn't happen, Getafix! Do you understand?!"

Getafix wanted to argue, but they were wasting precious time. He knew the Venerable Druid was right. Mastix's wrath would be focused on the elder. But Getafix didn't care whether he was caught with his mentor. Mastix disliked him anyway, so no big loss there. Besides, he was a druid now. He didn't have to obey his teacher. There wasn't anything the fellow could possibly say that could change his m-

"Please, Getafix. See it as my last instruction as your mentor."

_Well, that did it._ How could he refuse to obey his superior, and rob him of his last request. _Last_. The word filled Getafix with dread. With a sigh, Getafix relented. "I'll head Northwest," he said. "Toward Redones*."

The Venerable Druid gave a nod. "May Toutatis give you speed."

Getafix thanked his mentor, returning the phrase before reluctantly turning and heading, what he believed, was Northwest. It was hard to tell in the chaos-ridden storm that raged all around him.

Behind Getafix, the Venerable Druid watched until his pupil was out of sight. "Be safe, Getafix," he whispered, "You still have a mighty part to play in this; I am sure." With that, the elder turned South and staggered off into the darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Senones and Redones are among several names I got from an old map of the Carnutes, which, awesomely enough, is the exact same area as the map found in Asterix comics. :)
> 
> As much as I enjoyed writing about the druids in the Carnutes, I'm happy to be moving on. It's hard to come up with words to replace "mentor", "teacher", and "druid" without feeling like I'm repeating each word every two sentences!
> 
> PLEASE COMMENT! THANKS!


	5. The Village

Getafix wasn't sure how long he had traveled; whether it had been hours, days, or weeks. He really hadn't paid that much attention to the time. His mind had been occupied; still reeling from the events that had so unexpectedly taken place. He felt stunned; dazed. Every memory, from the ceremony onward, was a blur of confusing images and escalating emotions. Then there was the information that the Venerable Druid had given him. It was a meadow of clarity in a forest of chaos; but it was a hazy clarity, lost in the shock and fear that still coursed through his mind; clouding it.

Leaving the Forest of Carnutes was the hardest thing Getafix had ever done. He had not had time to prepare himself; mentally or physically. His departure had been so sudden, he still couldn't truly process that it had all really happened. That he had really turned and left. He felt empty, as if a part of him were missing. He left alone, separated from his fellow druids for the first time in...forever. He tried not to let his emotions run away with him. He tried to remember what he had been taught, to keep his feelings in check; but all with the same success. He failed miserably.

He was angry; that was the one emotion he was _sure_ he was feeling. Anger at Mastix; anger at that unnamed druid who had created the Book of Olc and started this whole mess; but most of all he was angry with himself. He should have insisted on going with the Venerable Druid. He should have found a way to counteract the storm. He should have been able to stop Mastix...And he should have been able to save Prolix...His mind filled with different possible scenarios in which he could have prevented each horrendous event that had transpired. However, deep down, he knew that he really couldn't have done anything to change what had happened. But he hated; no, refused to admit that...At least, not yet.

After hours of alternating between running, stumbling, and walking, Getafix finally stopped to rest under the shelter of large oak tree. He was still within a large forest, though he was certain it was not Carnutes. He couldn't really remember when he had crossed the border, but he knew that he indeed had crossed it. One clue that was in favor of that theory was that the intensity of the storm was drastically different where he was now then it had been in Carnutes. The intense lightening, powerful wind, and earthquakes had given way to nothing more than a drenching downpour and some far off rumbles of thunder. He vaguely wondered whether it had calmed down back in Carnutes or had stayed the same. How extensive was the damage? And was everyone alright? As of that moment, he didn't know.

Getafix was positive he was no longer in Carnutes. He felt relieved to be away from the chaotic disaster that had once been his home, but he also felt a nearly overwhelming urge to turn around and head back...but not tonight. Druids may be remarkable people, but they still get tired, sore, and cold, just like anyone else would. And Getafix was no exception. His white robe was soaked through, sticking wetly to his skin in a most uncomfortable manner. His beard and thick eyebrows were heavy with water, furthering his misery as it dripped into his eyes and trickled down his face. It was rather chilly for a summer day...At least, he thought it was day. It was so dark and stormy it could well have been nighttime for all he knew. Again Getafix wondered how long and far he had traveled, and whether he had indeed gone in the right direction; Northwest as he had planned.

Sighing in frustration and exhaustion, the druid leaned against the oak's trunk and slid down to a sitting position at its base. He was very tired, and starting to feel chilled. The water running down the inside of his clothes made him shiver even more than he already was. He took a hand and ran it through his beard, attempting to squeeze the precipitation from it. It didn't really do much. He still looked uncommonly like a half-drowned forest creature. With another sigh, Getafix slowly let his weary eyelids droop. He felt like he had run for miles...and maybe he had. His legs were achy and, to his surprise, covered in cuts and bruises. Probably from his mad dash through the collapsing tunnels of Carnutes. In fact, now that he was thinking about it, he was quite sore in several places, most notably his back, where he suddenly remembered having had a large stone hit him during his escape. He mentally went over his body as he sat reclined beneath the tree, checking to make sure there was no permanent damage. He discovered only that he was mostly bruised, but otherwise alright, much to his relief. He relaxed, letting the soreness and tense muscles return to a less unbearable state. He might have fallen asleep; he was pretty sure he had dozed, but he all at once became aware of a soft sound. At first, he thought it was water dripping off the leaves above him, or some small animals trying to seek shelter in the bushes, but as the little sound continued, it became more and more recognizable.

It was the sound of someone crying.

Pushing himself to his aching feet, Getafix stood perfectly still, trying to determine from where the noise was coming. It was hard, with all the sounds of rain and wind, but after a short time Getafix determined that it was coming from the bushes to his left. Sneaking forward carefully, and still very wary after all he had been through the past twenty-four hours, Getafix gently parted the foliage to get a look at whoever was sniffling behind them. What he saw melted his heart at once.

There, sitting in a puddle and looking terribly dejected and miserable, was a little boy. His bright red hair was muddy and unkempt, starting to slip from the two little braids that lined either side of his face. He was dressed in a pine green tunic, his little stomach protruding just a tad, implying that he was one who enjoyed a good meal. His pants were designed with vertical stripes of dark and light purple, and his little feet were bare. The child's hands were curled into fists, thrust into his eyes as he cried his little heart out, looking the very image of despair. The boy didn't even see Getafix until the druid gave a light cough.

The child jumped harshly, eyes opening wide as he jerked his head up and noticed the stranger for the first time. He scrambled to his feet, and Getafix suddenly had a tiny wooden sword pointed toward his face.

"Who are you?!" the boy shouted, brandishing his 'weapon' menacingly. All traces of his tears had disappeared and had been replaced with a mask of stubborn fearlessness. His fierce little face was anything but; looking almost comical in its seriousness. From his accent and speech, Getafix realized that he had traveled further then he had thought. This boy was undoubtedly a Gaul.

Getafix stepped through the bushes to get closer and a small shadow of fear flitted across the child's face. "Stay where you are!" he cried, taking a step back himself. "My dad's the chief of our village! He's the boss! So...so if you hurt me he's gonna get you for it!" He flinched back as if he expected the druid to attack him anyway.

Getafix gave a kindly chuckle, trying to allay the boy's fears. "Me? Hurt you? Nonsense. I'm not in the habit of injuring little boys that I find deep in a forest during a downpour." He gave the boy a smile. "And besides, I am unarmed. So...can we be friends and talk, or are you going to run me through?" He looked down at the toy sword that only reached up to his stomach in the boy's hand.

The child seemed to hesitate, lowering the weapon just a bit. He tilted his head to the side, like a puppy might do. "Mom says not to talk to strangers," he answered dutifully. That seemed to refortify his suspicious nature, and he readjusted his arm so that the sword returned to its original position against the druid's middle.

Getafix rested a hand against his chin, as if in deep contemplation. The boy watched him curiously, his misery obviously forgotten now that he wasn't alone. "Ah," Getafix said at last, as if coming to a great realization. "You're mother meant _normal, everyday_ strangers."

"You're not a normal, everyday stranger?" the child asked.

Getafix shook his head, his beard flapping wetly from side to side. "No. I'm a druid."

"A druid?"

"A man who knows magic, and spells, and medicine."

The boy suddenly became very thoughtful, this time lowering the sword all the way down to his side. "Mom never said nothing about talking to druids..." He gave Getafix a smile. "I guess it'll be alright if we talk a bit. But I'm real busy, so not too long."

Getafix nodded in understanding, even though he couldn't even begin to guess at what the boy had been 'busy' doing. "That sounds reasonable. Here, let's start from the beginning." Holding out his wrinkled hand, the druid introduced himself. "My name is Getafix. I come from the Forest of Carnutes, far away from here. I had to leave for...for important reasons." He had been going to explain all about Mastix and the absolute nightmare he had been through, but then remembered that he was addressing a child and had quickly changed his mind.

The boy grasped Getafix's large hand with his small one, looking all business as he gave the limb a firm shake. "My name is Vitalstitistix. I live in a village right over..." he glanced around him, a shadow of worry entering his expression. He turned back to Getafix, trying his best to hide his concern. "...nearby," he finished. From the boy's appearance and apparent distress, Getafix finally pieced the puzzle together.

The kid was lost.

But, of course, Getafix knew the child would never _admit_ to being lost. Not this little fellow. His very stance implied he was a very stubborn and tenacious young lad; viciously guarding his pride and dignity; even if he didn't always quite succeed. Getafix knew he'd have to come up with some way of figuring out where the boy lived and getting him back home. Not to mention that Getafix needed a place to stay the night. One could get terribly sick standing about in a downpour like this, and though Getafix had a spell for that, he didn't really feel like working any magic any time soon. Especially after what had happened back in Carnutes.

Rubbing his hands against his own arms, Getafix gave a shiver that was only half-faked. "Brrr. Pretty chilly, isn't it." He saw Vitalstitistix give an involuntary shudder and a nod. "How about you showing me to your village so that I can ask your father if I might spend the night. I have traveled a long way and I can't very well keep going without some rest."

Vitalstitistix looked panicked for a moment, knowing his tiny pride was at stake. "Oh, um...yeah..." His eyes suddenly lit up as an idea struck him. "But I'm going to need your...er, parti...partici-"

"Participation. Oh? How so?" Getafix tried hard to keep the amused smile off his face. He was really beginning to like this little boy.

"I want to play a game."

"A...game?"

"Yes. I'm not going to tell you where the village is." Vitalstitistix crossed his little arms over his chest and looked up into the druid's face triumphantly.

Getafix didn't have to fake a frown this time. "Why not?"

"Because that's part of the game," the boy huffed impatiently. "You've got to find the village. I'll give you a hint and you've got to find it."

Getafix let himself smile at that. The child was really quite clever. His little 'game' would ensure that they got to the village, but without Vitalstitistix having to admit that he didn't have a clue where it was. Quite clever. "I suppose I wouldn't mind giving it a try." He noticed the relief in the child's eyes.

"Yay!...Er, I mean, alright. Here's your first clue." Vitalstitistix stood dramatically, as though what he would say next would be the greatest revelation of all time. "You must find a big, ugly rock shaped like a wild boar!" He smiled up at the druid, taking Getafix's hand as he began to hop excitedly. "Go on, go on; find it!"

"Hmmm. A big, ugly rock shaped like a boar, eh?" Getafix rubbed his chin again. "Well, let's see what we can do." He headed off into the forest with the little boy in tow.

Sometime later, the duo stood in front of a rock that did, in fact, look uncommonly like a boar. A very large, mossy boar. It had taken longer than Getafix had thought it would to find it. They had traipsed back and forth through the trees, searching until Getafix was certain that even he was lost. When the large boulder finally came into view, Vitalstitistix had let go of his hand and run forward, clapping in excitement.

"Youfoudit!Youfoundit!Youfoundit!" he chanted, jumping about energetically. "Now!" His face took on that dramatic expression once more. "You must find an old, rotten tree! It should be somewhere..." he glanced from side to side, then pointed to the right. "That way!" He grabbed the druid's hand once again, though this time _he_ led the way rather than Getafix. He obviously knew where he was going now and no longer had any need for playing his 'game'. Other than to cover up the fact that he had ever been lost in the first place.

A short while afterward, Getafix spotted a series of smokey billows raising above the trees. As they drew nearer, the druid realized that the dark streaks of fog were coming from a collection of small chimneys that rose from a little village of thatched roof cottages. The village was just outside the border of the forest, with a dirt path leading up to a gate in the log wall that surrounded the little community. Despite the dense fog, Getafix thought he caught a glimpse of the sea beyond the it. Warm glows emitted from the windows of several huts, giving the whole place a very safe, homey atmosphere. It was quite the welcoming sight.

"I found it!" Vitalstitistix shouted in joy, forgetting very quickly to hide the fact that he had been lost. He started dragging Getafix forward, babbling away about how he had known exactly where the village all the time and that he was just testing the druid's problem solving skills. Getafix let him. There was no reason to dispute with the child. It really didn't matter. And besides, all children need some fantasies.

As they started their way toward the village, the two suddenly became aware of a second group of persons heading in the same direction, parallel to their own course. They were many more in number, and had just emerged from the forest as well, just further down the border from where Getafix and Vitalstitistix had. When the group noticed the duo, they changed their direction, heading their way.

"Uh oh..." Vitalstitistix said softly, seeming to shrink in on himself.

"What?" Getafix asked nervously. He was uncertain whether they should stand and wait for the newcomers or run and hide. "Who are they?"

Vitalstitistix's fearless mask melted into one of misery once more. "It's my dad; the chief of our village. He's going to be mad..."

Getafix felt relieved. Of course. Now that he wasn't so tense he could see that one fellow, who was leading the group toward them, looked very similar to the boy. He had that same, bright red hair, tufting out from beneath a double black and white winged helmet. He had a thick, red mustache to match. He wore a blue tunic over a pair of orange and yellow checkered pants. To top the whole getup off was a sword belted to his side and a short, red cape buckled about his neck with a round, golden clasp. Getafix also noticed that, like his son, the chief was bare-footed.

When the assembly finally reached them, the Chief strutted forward with a purpose, sending Getafix a suspicious glance and his son a frustrated glare. "Young man," he addressed the boy, "You have got a _lot_ of explaining to do!"

"I'm sorry, Dad," the child responded weakly, not raising his eyes to meet his father's.

The Chief huffed in frustration. "You've been missing for the past three hours; your mother's been sick with worry; I've been out in this weather searching for you; _and_ you turn up in the company of some stranger. And all you can say is you're sorry?" His voice was stern, but not malevolent. Behind it Getafix sensed a loving father. Though, at the moment, a very _angry_ , loving father.

"We are going to have a long talk when we get home; and I don't doubt your mother will want to get her words worth in as well." He looked back at the group of miserably soaked men behind him. "Semiautomatix, take my son home while I tend to this fellow." He gave a nod in Getafix's direction. "The rest of you can go back to your homes."

Vitalstitistix gave Getafix a sorrowful glance before turning and following his designated escort back toward the village. The rest of the men went as well, leaving Getafix alone with the Chief. The fellow turned to address the druid directly.

"I guess you're the one I'm to thank for bringing my son home," he said; though, somehow, he made it sound more like an accusation than a thanks. He raised an eyebrow at Getafix's unusual garb. "You some kind of hermit?"

"No," Getafix said kindly, "I'm a druid."

"A druid?" The Chief tilted his head and Getafix almost burst out laughing. He looked just like his son when Vitalstitistix had responded exactly the same way. Or maybe it was that Vitalstitistix was so much like his father.

"Yes. You know; I perform spells, magic, and medicine." When the Chief became thoughtful, as his son had, Getafix felt a sense of deja vu as the words left his lips. Yes, the apple never _did_ fall far from the tree. Indeed the father and his son were very much alike.

"Need a place to stay the night?"

"Actually; yes."

"Perhaps we can use your services too."

"Oh?" Getafix inquired. "In what way?"

"We are in need of some medicinal...assistance," the Chief said carefully, as if he really didn't want to be the one to ask. "There are two women in our village, both of whom are with...ah, child." He seemed rather embarrassed to talk about such a delicate subject. It was a discussion he would have rather left to his wife, or one of the other women in the village. Chiefs didn't go around talking about the arriving population of newborns, unless of course, it was their own. At least, this was how the Chief saw it.

"At the same time?" Getafix asked, surprised. That was rather an interesting coincidence. It wasn't every day that a village was blessed with two infants within a few months of each other. Unless it was a very large village, which this one was not.

The Chief nodded.

Getafix scratched his chin. "I'm sure I can have a look at them. There's nothing wrong with them is there?" He feared from the Chieftain's behavior that perhaps there had been some unforeseen complication of some sorts. If that was the case, there was little Getafix could do to help them.

"Oh, no," the Chief said quickly. "It's just that, well, we have no way of telling if everything _is_ going alright, you know? And the husbands are getting a little fidgety. Driving us all up the wall; if you see what I mean." He gave a chuckle and a shake of his head.

Getafix let himself laugh too. "I do."

"Then it's a deal?" The Chief held out his hand in a friendly manner and Getafix gave it a firm shake. The druid didn't have the heart to tell the fellow that he would have taken a look at the women even without getting something in return. Druids were meant to help others. It was almost like an unspoken law. Not to mention that Getafix was a pushover when it came to women and children. Not that he had had much contact with them over the years, living in Carnutes; but once in a while the druids would receive young, new students donated by their parents to become druids themselves. The mothers would cry as they handed over their sons for a worthier cause; it had always broken Getafix's heart whenever he saw it.

"Alright, then follow me, Druid, and we'll get you something warm to wear and something hot to eat." He turned and headed for the village, Getafix walking beside him all the way. It was still raining heavily, though Getafix felt that it had lightened up a tad since he had found Vitalstitistix.

The village was a very peaceful, calming place; even in the midst of a drenching downpour. The pale, tan dirt path entered through the gate and then branched off among the little homes. The cottages where mostly made of stacked gray stones with thatched roofs of either hay or sticks. Stone chimneys rose above them, tendrils of smoke curling lazily into the sky. To Getafix, the sight was foreign; having lived underground for most of his life. Not that he didn't know what a normal, above ground house looked like, but it had been a while since he had seen one. A very long while.

The paths were devoid of people; all the Gaulish inhabitants being safe and dry within their homes. The Chief made his way along the street, chattering all the time. "I'll let you come stay at my place for the night. The best of the best for our guest, you could say. We'll get you something to eat; how does a nice boar sound? And something to drink; perhaps some fine wine, eh?"

"Actually," Getafix interrupted gently, "How about I look at those two women you mentioned; if it's convenient. Otherwise I'll just be getting dry only to be going back out into this deluge."

The Chief wasn't exactly sure what a deluge was, but he agreed wholeheartedly with the druid nonetheless. "Fantastic idea! I'll show you the way. We'll stop at Astronomix and Sarsaparilla's house first. It's closer." With that he marched forward into what looked like the village square. Then he turned down a path to his left; Getafix following as they made their way toward a small cottage with a medium sized tree beside it. The place was one of the several houses that had a stick roof rather than one of hay.

Coming up to the cottage's wooden half door, the Chief gave a couple raps in quick secession. There was a moment of silence before an anxious "I'm coming!" reached their ears. A second after, the door opened to reveal perhaps the shortest man Getafix had ever seen. The fellow was only about a head taller than Vitalstitistix; barely coming up to Getafix's chest. His hair, which was a dark blond hue, was short, just visible under a helmet that he wore on his head. The helmet itself was adorned with long, curved horns, resembling something more of a Viking design. His fashion sense was a little different than most of the Gauls Getafix had seen so far. The man's tunic was a faded greenish-yellow color, sleeveless, and strapped around his waste with a belt. All this was over a pair of pure white pants and, unlike his Chieftain, sported light brown shoes on either foot.

The fellow seemed stressed; agitated. Dark circles under his eyes told that he had not been sleeping well lately. But, despite his obvious exhaustion, the man greeted them kindly, even giving Getafix a friendly smile. "What can I do for you, Chief?"

"Astronomix, this elderly man is a druid. He practices medicine. I thought that-"

"Why?! Is there something wrong?!" The short Gaul looked terrified out of his wits. His hands were flung out at his side as though trying to regain his balance. "Is there something wrong with the pregnancy?!"

The Chief gave Getafix an exasperated look, as if to say 'see what I mean'. He motioned for the frightened father to calm down. "No, no, Astronomix! It's nothing of the kind!" He sighed in frustration. "I just thought maybe he could take a look at Sarsaparilla and give you some peace of mind. And the rest of us can get some respite from your worrying." The last part of his sentence had been muttered under his breath, and Getafix was the only one to hear it.

"Oh...ah, yeah, sure. That would be great," Astronomix replied, trying to calm his pounding heart. "Obeliscoidix and Vanilla are here too. Perhaps you could look at my friend's wife as well, Mr. Druid?" He turned hopeful eyes toward Getafix. He was still terribly agitated, but that was normal for an expecting father.

"Of course. That would be no problem at all," the druid replied kindly.

"Well," the Chief huffed as he began to inch away from the conversation, "I will leave you to your work, Druid. I have a rather wayward son to go give a talking to. Astronomix, would you mind showing our guest to my hut when he is finished here?"

"I will, Chief."

With that, the leader of the village turned around with a swish of his cape and departed, heading home to deal with a nervously awaiting Vitalstatistix. His feet made squishing sounds in the muddy earth and as he disappeared around the corner, the sound was audible far longer than the Chief remained visible. The noise completely robbed the man of the dignity he had been so desperately trying to present. It almost made Getafix laugh.

Astronomix was fidgeting nervously; wringing his hands in front of him as he watched the Chief disappear from sight. Getafix watched the short fellow with a kind, knowing smile.

"This is your first child, isn't it?" Getafix asked, regaining the man's attention.

"What? Oh, yes; yes it is." Astronomix shook his head as if clearing it. "Where are my manners! Please come in out of the rain, Mr. Druid." He opened the half door, motioning the taller, older man inside. Getafix gave a curt nod before entering.

The house was even quainter inside than it had appeared from the outside. There was a wooden table close to the warm, glowing fireplace, along with a few benches and chairs, all hand crafted out of timber. Over the fire, a cauldron of what looked and smelled to be stew sizzled and steamed, filling the air with a wonderful aroma. The atmosphere was calm, despite Astronomix's anxiety. Standing over the bubbling broth stood a beautiful woman. She was quite short; as short as Astronomix at least. She had lovely golden hair which she kept tied in a round bun on the back of her head. The eyes she turned toward them were light and full of kindness. She was adorned in a pink, sleeveless blouse, with a long, flowing, light purple skirt underneath. But the most telling detail was her stomach, which left no doubt in anyone's mind that she was indeed pregnant. _Very_ pregnant.

Astronomix held out a hand toward the woman and she took it, coming to stand beside her husband. "Mr. Druid," Astronomix said, "this is my wife, Sarsaparilla." The woman smiled and gave a little curtsy.

"Pleased to meet you," she said.

"And this," Astronomix continued, motioning behind Getafix, "Is my best friend, Obeliscoidix, and his wife, Vanilla."

Getafix turned around to greet the new acquaintances. What he found himself facing, however, nearly made him gasp in shock. Before him was one of the _largest_ men he had ever seen. No; had ever heard of! He was immense, in both height and girth. His long-sleeved, blue tunic barely fit over his tremendous stomach, as did his white pants. It all gave his belly an unnaturally round look; almost like a giant, deep bottomed cauldron with two, short, spindly legs. He too, like his friend, wore a pair of light brown shoes and a helmet. His head cover, however, was rather too small for his size. It was a silver helmet adorned with small white wings that perked up on either side. They stood stiffly; erect, never moving. His hair was red, just like the Chief's, and he had a frazzled red mustache to match it.

Beside the giant stood a rather large woman, at least in comparison to Sarsaparilla. Next to her husband she was petite and womanly. She had a kind, round face, framed by two long braids of red-orange hair. Each braid was decorated with a black bow. She had a prominent chin and nose, but she certainly wasn't unattractive. She fit snugly into an outfit not all that unlike Sarsaparilla's, only in different colors. Here blouse, which was sleeveless, was a light green, almost yellow, and her skirt was a creamy white. She too was quite obviously expecting an addition to their family very soon as well.

Recovering from his shock, Getafix gave a friendly nod. "A pleasure. Now, your chief says that you might be in need of my services. Perhaps in giving you women a little checkup, so to speak, to ensure that all is well with your children and their upcoming birth?" The four other persons in the room seemed to sag with relief at his words.

Vanilla folded her hands over her stomach and gave him a shy smile. "That would be very helpful to us, Sir," she said carefully. "We've been rather worried you see."

"Any particular reason why, may I ask?"

"Well, no," Sarsaparilla spoke up, "It's just that it's our first and, if there's something wrong..." She trailed off, not wanting to finish that sentence. Getafix gave her an encouraging smile.

"My dear woman, I am sure all is well. All parents are anxious with their first child; it is nothing to worry about. But, to put your minds at ease, I can take a look, if you want." Both the women and the men concluded that they would indeed.

For the next half hour, Getafix inspected the women. He told them to breath deeply, and perform various, seemingly unrelated tasks, at least to a non-druid. But, despite their confusion, the women did as they were told without question. Astronomix and Obeliscoidix stayed close, but not so much as to get in the druid's way. They appeared both nervous and curious, watching as Getafix asked various questions and made comments, all good, on their health. Finally, after having performed every appropriate examination, Getafix finished by laying his weathered hand on each of the women's stomachs; with their permission of course. He concentrated, somehow being able to tell the child's state with that gentle touch. He smiled, calling the husband's forward and laying their hands on their wives' protruding bellies. Both men gave a gasp of surprise and joy as they each felt a tiny kick from within.

Getafix sat back, watching their reaction with kind amusement. "You both will have a beautiful, healthy child. There is nothing wrong that I can foresee. You are both strong, healthy women, and I see no evidence that they won't come on time."

"How soon?" Astronomix breathed, his hand still pressed gently against Sarsaparilla's stomach.

"Any day now. Their birthdays will be quite close, if I'm not mistaken. Maybe, a day apart?"

"Boy or girl?" Vanilla asked hopefully.

Getafix smiled. "That is something I cannot tell, madam. Man does not yet have the technology to determine such a thing. Even magic cannot solve all the mysteries in this world." He yawned, the exhaustion from before coming back to him quite suddenly. "Now, if it's alright with you four, I think it's time I returned to the Chief. I am staying the night in his cottage. I have had quite a tiring day."

"Oh, yes of course," Astronomix said, quickly leaving his wife's side to escort the druid toward the door. "I'll walk you there."

"Thank you, Mr. Druid," Vanilla said gratefully, easing herself up from her chair.

Sarsaparilla gently followed her example. "Yes, thank you! If there's anything we can do for you, just let us know."

Their guest gave a kind smile. "Well, there is one thing..."

"Yes?"

"Call me Getafix. Mr. Druid makes me feel so...old."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, there you go, a look into the life of the village before Asterix, as well as some of Getafix's first meetings. It's a lot of fun writing for characters, like Vitalstatistix, when they were children. But there'll be more of that in the next chapter...
> 
> NOTE: I realized today that their was already a character in the Asterix universe who was named Prolix. He was the creepy soothsayer from "Asterix and the Soothsayer". I just wanted to say that the druid Prolix that I created is in no way related or based on the soothsayer. They just so happen to share the same name. :)


	6. The Birth of Asterix

Getafix awoke with a gasp. He sat up in a panic, not remembering where he was. A look of terror was pasted on his pale face and his eyes were wide in fear. Slowly, very slowly, his memories of the previous day came back to him. He remembered meeting the little boy in the woods, meeting his father the Chief, and visiting with some of the friendly Gauls in the village. He remembered returning to the Chief's home and being fed and given warm clothes and a warm bed. That was where he was now. In the bedroom they had let him stay in. He felt himself relax, finally coming fully to reality.

He had had a nightmare.

He couldn't remember exactly what he had dreamed about, but whatever it had been had left him shaking and breathing heavily. It was a shadow in his mind; dark, ominous, and frightening. Like the dark silhouette of some great beast lurking somewhere in a black fog. He had felt trapped, that much he remembered. Trapped and weak. Scared. Just as he had felt when Mastix had attacked Prolix, he had been helpless against...something; something strong and evil. Wicked and raging with a dark hatred.

Getafix sat panting for a moment, willing his mind to except the fact that it had all been nothing more than a nightmare. It wasn't too hard to do. The bright sunlight that streamed through the window into the upstairs bedroom of the Gualish Chief's hut was a shocking contrast to his nighttime terrors. The air was sweet with the smell of the summer world outside; fresh grass and fragrant flowers. It gave everything a sort of golden glow, that warmed your heart the moment it reached you. Getafix was calmed by the sight, and quickly regained his composure.

Whatever he had dreamed was more than likely the leftover trauma of the events in Carnutes. He knew that would pass with time, and he looked forward to the day that it would. Druids didn't normally dream. Oh, they had visions from time to time, or perhaps they would feel inclined to do some odd task or another for no apparent reason; but they very rarely dreamed. Especially nightmares. Getafix couldn't even remember the last time he had had one...When he was five maybe? It was a strange occurrence; one that Getafix felt he was in no state of mind to deal with at the moment. And so, as quickly as he could, he pushed the issue from his mind.

Disentangling himself from the warm, woolen blankets, Getafix placed his bare feet onto the wooden beamed floor and stood. His back was still sore, where the falling rock had hit him, but most of his other bruises seemed to be healing nicely. Stretching out the kinks that had settled in his muscles, he gave a yawn. Looking about, he found that the Chief's wife had already washed and dried his robe, setting it neatly folded on a stool in the corner. Getafix was very appreciative. He wasn't used to the odd clothing of non-druid folk. Not to mention he looked silly in the bright colored garbs with his long white beard and thin legs. With a silent thanks to the Gaulish woman, he quickly changed back into his normal regalia. After running a hand through his frazzled beard, Getafix descended the wooden ladder down to the first level of the hut.

"Well, look who decided to wake up," a loud voice called, despite the fact that the speaker was quite close. Getafix winced at the shout and gave a curt nod to the lady of the house.

"Good morning, Madam. Have I overslept?"

"Darn right you did! It's almost late morning!" She appeared to be punching a lump of dough by the table, probably making some bread for later that day. The Chief's wife was by no means a small woman. Her stout body and large, thick arms made her personality all the more intimidating. She was a very strong-willed lady, Getafix had found. He had seen her match wits against her husband over trivial matters, even though he had only met her last night. She had a voice like a trumpet; loud and strong. Her mouth was of considerable size. Of course, it had to be in order for her to yell the way she always seemed to.

She was dressed much like all the other Gaulish women Getafix had met thus far. She sported a yellow, sleeveless blouse with a red skirt, all of which were made of a considerable amount of fabric. A large white apron covered nearly her whole front, taking the brunt of the flour she was getting all over herself. She wore earrings; loops that dangled and caught the sunlight that found its way into the room. Her hair was just as red as both her son and her husband, which made it quite obvious that they were indeed related. Though, one had to wonder, when Vitalstitistix was so different in temperament than his mother.

The Chief sat nearby in a woven-seated chair, looking miserable; his feet planted firmly in a large basin of hot water. His helmet was hanging by the knob on the back of his perch, looking uncommonly like a large black and white butterfly resting on a upside-down bowl of steal. The Chief gave the druid a look that Getafix interpreted as a plea for help.

"Are you unwell, Chief?" Getafix asked, concerned.

The man opened his mouth to answer, but his wife beat him to it. "He went and caught a cold, traipsing about bare-footed in a storm! Pft! The very idea! Now he's gotten what he deserves." She gave the lump on the table another violent whack and again the Chief sent the druid a sorrowful look. But the Gaul seemed to try to regain his dignity by starting up a conversation of his own.

"So, Druid, how long will you be staying among us?" he asked. His voice sounded comically stuffy, adding to his pathetic appearance.

"I think I will be leaving by late this afternoon," Getafix concluded. He knew the Venerable Druid wouldn't approve, but he desperately wanted to return back to Carnutes. His disturbed night's sleep hadn't helped his nerves, and had actually made him more eager than ever to go home. He figured that if he left by late day he should make it back by the following morning. Even that wasn't soon enough for his taste.

The Chief looked slightly disappointed. It couldn't be very often that the village got any visitors, it being so secluded and all. He brightened again, however, when he realized that the druid's departure would give him reason to help. "Ah, very well, Druid. I shall make sure that you are well supplied with food and water by then. In the mean ti...ti...t-ACHOO!" He sneezed violently, feet kicking up and spraying the floor with steaming water. His wife sent him a glare that could have curdled milk.

"And there he goes!" she declared, stomping forward to pour more water into the basin. "And all because he doesn't have the sense to wear shoes!"

Getafix was about to offer his assistance, but the lady of the house tossed him an apple for his breakfast and told him that lunch would be ready in a few hours. She then turned back to her loafing, beating the living daylights out of the lump of dough, kicking up large, billowing clouds of flour. Getafix took that as permission to leave, and quickly scooted out the door, glad that it was the dough rather than him at the end of those fists.

The warmth of the sun that beat down on his back was a merciful change from the dark, cold rain of the previous night. Getafix walked along the various paths within the quaint little village. He came across a number of persons, all of whom were unbelievably friendly. Most of the villagers had learned of the druid's arrival and, either out of curiosity or kindness, they sought him out to welcome him. Many talked with him at length; no one was in such a hurry that they couldn't find time to chat. It filled Getafix with a different kind of warmth.

Strolling down a particular path, Getafix came across young Vitalstitistix, who was standing on top of a cauldron lid, carried by two other little boys. He wore a pot on top of his head like a helmet; the type of cookware that has holes in the bowl to drain various vegetables. Vitalstitistix was surrounded by a group of other young children, both boys and girls, riveting them with a loud daring tale of the previous night's adventures. As Getafix stopped to listen, he found that the child remembered their meeting quite differently.

"...And he says to me that he's lost," Vitalstitistix was boasting, puffing out his little chest. "And I says to him I says, 'I know the way'. So I brought him to my dad. My dad says to me, he says, 'You're a hero, Vitalstitistix! Well done!'"

Some of the little girls fluttered their eyelashes at him in awe. Even some of the other boys seemed impressed...But not all of them.

"How would a magic man get lothed in the woodth?" One piped up with a frown. He had a very notable lisp that caused spit to fly in every direction. He leaned on a small, wooden toy mallet, which he seemed to treasure and kept quite close to his side. He was shirtless, with little red pants and small brown shoes. Around his waist and covering his chest was a dark, leather apron, designed in a manner that brought to mind a smith, or possibly a shoemaker. His semi-long, bright blond hair curled up in a wave behind his back, appearing to be quite unruly. "He'th magic!" he boy insisted stubbornly, "He can't get lothed!"

Vitalstitistix sent the speaker a fierce scowl, but otherwise ignored the child's comment.

"Is he really magic?" One of the other boys asked timidly. He was slightly smaller than most of the other lads. He was dressed in a blue and white-checkered tunic with white pants. The blue in the fabric matched well with his clear blue eyes and light blond hair.

Vitalstitistix looked down at the inquirer with barely concealed disdain. "Of course he's magic, Cacofonix! He told me he was himself!"

The smaller boy backed down immediately, muttering an apology under his breath. He moved to stand a little further away from the group, hoping to go unnoticed and that his question would quickly be forgotten.

At this point, Getafix decided to come forward and make himself known. "Good morning, Vitalstitistix," he greeted, coming up behind the child. The druid had to fight to keep from laughing as the boy nearly toppled off his perch in surprise.

"Oh! M-Mr. Druid, Sir," he stammered, regaining his balance quickly. "I-I was just telling my friends about you." He looked very uncomfortable, afraid that his stories were about to be proven false right in front of his companions.

Getafix smiled at the children. "Oh? And what are your names?"

The boy with the mallet pushed his way to the front. He seemed suspicious of their visitor, and was intent on making an impression lest the druid prove himself to be a threat. "I'm Fulliautomatixth," he declared, jabbing a thumb into his own chest. "I'm Themiautomatixth'th thon; he'th a blackthmith. He hammerth metal like you wouldn't believe! He'th the throngethed man in the village!" He lisped and sputtered as he spoke, looking extremely proud of his father. He lorded that fact over his companions, sending them a haughty glance over his shoulder.

"That's not true!" Another boy stepped forward, glaring daggers at Fulliautomatix. He was a pudgy, little fellow, dressed in a black, sleeveless tunic, red pants, and no shoes. He too had blond hair, tied into two braids that stuck out behind him like twin tails. He pointed a chubby finger toward the other boy. "Your dad isn't any stronger than anyone elses!" He folded his arms over his chest with a smirk. "Besides, my dad's the strongest."

"WHAT?!" Fulliautomatix squeaked, stepping forward so he and the second child were practically nose to nose. "Your father ithn't even thronger than your mother! All he doeth is thell big, thtinky fish!"

A look of hurt flitted across the other boy's face, before it turned to anger. "Oh, yeah?!" He lifted back a fist, ready to smash the other's teeth in, as did Fulliautomatix, but they were quickly pulled away from one another by strong, old hands.

"I'd rather you didn't fight," Getafix said firmly. His voice was calm; unchanging from its previous tone, but it was very demending and no one wanted to push their luck. Getafix was actually quite concerned about their behavior, and he didn't want to see either of them hurt. He felt a tug on his robe and looked down to find the little boy in the blue and white-checkered tunic looking up at him.

"Fulliautomatix and Unhygenix do that all the time," the child said timidly in explaination, giving Getafix the second boy's name as well.

Getafix smiled and knelt down so he was closer to the boy's level. "And what's your name?"

"Cacofonix," said shyly, but then he seemed to gain some courage. "I'm going to be a bard someday. I'm going to sing odes and sonnets...Would...would you like to hear me sing?" He looked up hopefully into the druid's face with large trusting eyes.

Getafix suddenly noticed the children behind Cacofonix's back. They had all gone terribly pale, as if they had seen a ghost. They were shaking their heads and signing for the druid to say no. Getafix wasn't sure why they would do such a thing. Cacofonix was just a little boy; how bad could he possibly be? Pretending that he hadn't noticed the children's motions, he smiled down at the little one. "It would be a pleasure."

Cacofonix looked just about ready to cry with joy. He brushed himself off of nonexistent dust, pulled his tunic to straighten the winkles and took up the common bard stance. He hesitated, looking up to the druid for conformation, and then opened his little mouth to sing.

The result was the worst sound that Getafix had ever heard. It was as painful to the ears as the sound of grating steel against stone and as loud as a storming gale. The druid wasn't sure whether the boy was yelling, howling, or downright screeching. Despite Getafix's kind nature, he had no choice other than to jam his fingers into his ears, wincing at the offending noise. The children were doing much the same thing; some of the littlest girls had even broken into tears. Some of the more sensitive, or maybe more _sensible_ , boys took off at a run to escape the terrible cacophony. Just when it was reaching the point of being absolutely unbearable, an old man came speeding out of his hut waving a T-shaped cane over his head menacingly. He was shouting angrily, but Getafix couldn't hear him over the assaulting sound of painful singing.

Cacofonix saw the old fellow coming though, and broke off his singing at once. He leaped behind Getafix, gripping his robes in an attempt to hide. The other children sighed in relief, some holding a hand to their heads to relieve the headaches they had suddenly gained. The voice of the elderly fellow rushing towards them took center stage now that it was quiet.

"WHERE IS HE?!" he exclaimed, continuing to wave the stick over his head in fast, circulatory motions. His voice was extremely loud, as if he were still trying to be heard over the ruckus. Getafix remained standing where he was, letting Cacofonix use him as a shield. He wasn't sure if this man meant to do the boy harm, and, though Cacofonix's singing was indeed atrocious, he wouldn't allow the boy to be hurt. But Cacofonix stepped slowly out from the white folds of his garb on his own and came to stand sheepishly before the elder.

The old man shook the cane under the child's nose. "Cacofonix, what have we told you about singing in the village?"

Cacofonix turned a little pink. "To not to do it," he said softly.

"And why?"

"Because my voice is too strong and loud...right?"

"Right." The old timer gave a nod and lowered his stick. "If you want to sing, you go into the forest. You got that?"

Cacofonix looked thoroughly chastened. He lowered his eyes to look at his feet. "Yes, Sir."

The man's eyes softened and he gave a gentle chuckle. "Now run along and play before I decide to get in some practice with this stick!" He gave the bard-to-be a light shove toward his friends with a laugh. The joking action brought a smile back to Cacofonix's face as he and his friends started off to go play someplace else. Getafix noted with a smirk how, as they walked away, Fulliautomatix guarded Cacofonix, hammer at the ready lest the boy should decide to give a repeat of his performance.

"He's a good kid, really," the old timer said to Getafix, eyes still tracking the children until they disappeared from sight. Then he turned to the druid with a smile. He was a very small man; just about the same size as Astronomix. He had a large, drooping nose, and a chin that stuck forward, further then most. He had just about the same amount of hair on top of his head as Getafix himself. He didn't have a beard, leaving his chin clean shaven, but he did have a long, white mustache that hung down from beneath his nose. His tunic was a deep, navy blue, over a pair of white pants and brown shoes. He was bent, due to his age, but seemed to buzz with energy despite his vast years. The old man stuck out his hand in a warm gesture. "Geriatrix."

The druid took the hand and gave it a firm shake. "Getafix."

Geriatrix raised a bushy eyebrow. "You're a druid." It was a statement, not a question. He was looking Getafix up and down with a curious eye; taking in his long white beard, white robe, and red cape. He even seemed to take in the druid's blue, sack-like shoes. It was a wonder the old fellow could see anything at all the way he was squinting.

Getafix blinked. "Yes, I am," he answered kindly. Geriatrix was the first Gaul he had come across so far that even knew what a druid was. It came as somewhat of a shock, not having to explain himself for a change. Not that he minded. It was hard to summarize exactly what a druid was; and the words he had used thus far really didn't give the occupation justice. So far, he had been seen as anything between a 'medicine man' to a 'magician' of some sorts. But how else could he describe it to these people? It was like trying to explain a rainbow to a blind man. Of course, that wasn't the case with Geriatrix.

The old fellow nodded, satisfied that he had made the correct assumption. "I could tell by your clothing. You're obviously not Gaul." He paused, thinking deeply before asking, "How goes it in Carnutes?"

The question caught Getafix completely by surprise. He hadn't expected to meet anyone who knew about Carnutes. Since the Forest was off limits to non-druids, it was typically forgotten by the normal folk. That was the way it had been for years. _Many_ years.

"It's been ages since we've had a druid in this village," Geriatrix added, seeming to sense the visitor's bewilderment.

"You had a druid here once before?" Getafix said, taking the chance to change the subject. Such a thing as druids living in villages wasn't unheard of. Getafix could think of several cases in the history of the druids where one would go and live in a town. It was a rarer occurrence these days, since most druids now resided in Carnutes. The men who would leave and stay with normal folk mainly did so because they felt some connection to the people. Often feeling the need to be with them; possibly for aiding the people, or even keeping them safe. But, again, it was very rare these days. Most tended to stick to their spells and scholarly studies, rather than the more vigorous, complicated, and challenging life as a village druid.

"Yes, yes," Geriatrix hummed distractedly. "When I was just a lad. Oh, those were the days, let me tell you! It was the life! Nothing but lovely days, bright and cheerful; not a cloud in the sky. We used to..." He continued into a lengthy narration of his entire life. He spoke of the days long past, when the village was first built and the first few families moved in. He told of how they worked and slaved over every stone of every cottage; how each path was lovingly cut into the unyielding grass. How they fished from the seas and began trade with other villages. Geriatrix said he remembered it all very well; each day and hour as if it were yesterday. He spoke of friends long gone; ancestors to those now living around him.

Getafix listened respectfully as the two went and sat beneath the shade of a nearby tree. He found it all very interesting, whether the tales were true or not. Geriatrix could not possibly be as old as he claimed. If he were, that would make him older than any of the druids in Carnutes. And yet, the old fellow was quite spry. Besides his bend back, whitened hair, and wrinkles, he seemed quite young, at least in spirit. Still, Getafix supposed that Geriatrix was indeed very old; maybe even older than him. But his stories were captivating false or no, and Getafix found himself enjoying the man's company immensely.

Before long, Getafix realized that the sun had nearly reached its zenith; it was almost midday. He remembered the Chief's wife, standing by the table side while beating the large lump of dough. She had told him when lunch would be served, and she hadn't been telling him idly. She expected him to be there _on time_ and hungry; of that the druid was certain. Getafix began to try and wrap up his conversation with Geriatrix, but the old man just kept talking. He didn't seem to take notice of the time of day, nor the uneasy look that had overcome his companion's face. Getafix was just starting to get frustrated enough to actually speak up and say something, when suddenly a loud shout erupted to their right.

"GETAFIX!"

The druid turned, grateful for the distraction, and spotted a very familiar figure running towards him. "Astronomix?" The little Gaul looked even more distressed now than he had the previous night. He was stumbling in their direction, waving his hands and calling the druid's name over and over.

Finally reaching the duo, Astronomix slid to a halt in front of them. He was out of breath, wheezing as he supported his weight on his knees, gasping in gulps of air. But he didn't wait for himself to recover. "Getafix! Please, we need your help! The babies; they're on the way!"

Getafix blinked; surprised. "So soon?!" He had guessed that the children would come 'any day now', but he certainly hadn't meant the _next_ day!

Astronomix nodded vigorously, still trying to catch his breath. "Both Sarsaparilla and Vanilla have gone into labor!"

"BOTH?!" Getafix's eyes practically bugged from his wizened head. That was almost an impossible probability! For both children to come early at exactly the same time! It was a one in a million chance!

Astronomix kept looking over his shoulder, gazing in the direction he had come. He was wringing his hands with nerves. "Obeliscoidix and some of the other women are with them, but we need help! There aren't enough hands!" His eyes were wide with fear. "What if something goes wrong?! What if something happens to one of them! What if-"

Getafix took hold of the man's shoulders, effectively capturing his attention."Astronomix; relax. I know what to do. Lead the way." The certainty in the druid's voice seemed to calm the Gaul down. Getafix only hoped that his own concern wasn't showing. Turning to Geriatrix, Getafix asked if the old man wouldn't mind keeping an eye on the other children. He didn't want one wandering underfoot in the chaos that Getafix knew was soon to take place. Geriatrix agreed and the next instant they were off; the old timer in search of the children and Getafix closely following Astronomix.

Getafix missed lunch. He wasn't even thinking of food. He was too busy dealing with running back and forth between Astronomix's hut and Obeliscoidix's hut. Why both the pregnant women hadn't been put into one cottage was beyond Getafix's knowledge, but it certainly gave him a workout. He ran from one woman's side to the other, giving orders to the few women helpers he had. He told them to fetch warm water and rags, then rushed on to the next task.

Vanilla and Sarsaparilla were doing quite well, taking the surprise arrival with a steady mental stride. They were fine; the two having a problem was Astronomix and Obeliscoidix. The two fathers-to-be scurried about with worry. They were constantly in the way, anxious to see, hear, and understand every little thing that was happening. It got so bad that they started to impede on their progress. Getafix should have had Geriatrix watch the two, full-grown men, never mind the children! Finally finding their inquiries and constant presence a hazard to their success, Getafix ordered the two to be escorted outside.

"Off you go, Astronomix!" a kindly woman said, leading the small Gaul out of his own house. He tried to back peddle, but she had a firm grip on his right shoulder and left elbow. Due to the woman being taller than him made it hard to resist. "This is no place for you! Leave it all to us!"

Only a few houses away, Obeliscoidix was getting the same treatment. He too was being forcibly removed from his cottage, only it took two to move him.

"Do be sensible, Obeliscoidix!" one declared as she pushed him from behind. "You won't be any use in there!"

Both man, thoroughly depressed, wandered to the main path, where they met to bemoan their feelings on the matter. The walked side by side, still looking quite concerned; their arms folded tightly behind their backs as the went along.

"It's galling for a Gaul to be so helpless at a time like this," Astronomix sighed sadly, fixing his worried eyes on the path in front of his feet. "Don't you think, Obeliscoidix?"

The larger Gaul nodded in agreement, his brow furrowing in frustration. "Yup...And when I get galled I get hungry!" He looked as if he were planning to carry that comment further when all at once, both men were hit right smack in the face with something cold, wet, and scaly.

SPLATCH!

The surprise and resulting force of the impact nearly knocked Astronomix off his feet. He ran a hand over his stinging cheek as he glanced to the ground to see what had hit him. His friend did the same and they were both confused to find that they had been belted with two large, gray fish. Astronomix gave his companion a puzzled look before bending over to pick up the deceased water creature. He turned it over in his hands, trying to determine from where it had come and why it had been airborne. The sound of loud shouting answered his questions when he looked up and found that the village square was nothing more then a teaming pile of angry Gauls. How the brawl had started, neither he nor Obeliscoidix had any clue, but it was a welcome distraction.

"Follow me!" Astronomix shouted to his friend as he took off, swinging the fish over his head. "This will calm us down!" Obeliscoidix's thundering steps sounded behind him and, together, they entered the fray.

It was just the activity they needed to get their minds off the events at hand. It felt wonderful to release all that pent up energy; the nerves and anxieties. The rolling mass of men kicked up dust into the clear, afternoon sky; punching, kicking, biting, and slapping with raw fish. It was really very childish; but somehow, for Astronomix and Obeliscoidix, it was just what they needed. Unhealthix and Semiautomatix were dueling it out with fish, hitting and grabbing like a couple of school boys. The Chief wasn't any better. He was swinging an enormous swordfish, knocking opponents right off their feet as they were slugged by the monstrous creature. Even Geriatrix was in on the fight, standing on the outskirts of the teaming cloud of fists and dirt, hitting any limb that came into view with the tip of his cane.

"You should be ashamed of yourselves!" he was barking angrily, "Fighting in front of your children!"

No one listened, however. Whatever problem had started the whole mess was, by now, completely forgotten. All that remained was the thrill of the fight and the challenge of dodging out of the way of one another's blow. While the men were pretty rough, the extent of their attacks were no more than bruises and a few black eyes. Even Astronomix and Obeliscoidix failed to avoid all the fists and feet. But still, it was better than the anxiety of before. It was a release of tension; an avenue of letting loose all the pent up emotions.

Who knows how long the fight may have lasted, if not for a voice that suddenly bellowed to their right, sounding both shocked and angry. "STOP THAT! THIS IS NO DAY FOR VULGAR BRAWLS!" Freezing and turning toward the voice, the assembly of men saw Getafix the druid, standing not ten yards away, with two infant babes held gently in his arms. The druid gave the two little bundles of joy a smile. "Let's congratulate the happy fathers of these two newborn Gauls instead!"

After what had seemed like hours, Getafix had finally been rewarded for all his work with Sarsaparilla and Vanilla. Shortly after the fathers had left, the babies had arrived, at exactly the same moment. Getafix was in awe of how rare an event it was that two children should be born the same year; same day; same hour; same minute; and the same _second_! He was pretty sure that such an occurrence had never before been recorded; maybe that was because it had never taken place before! He had been with Sarsaparilla when it happened, while one of the other women managed with Vanilla. Both births went off without a hitch and, babes in hand, Getafix had carefully walked out to find the new fathers.

He was surprised; no shocked, to find that the entire village seemed to have gone completely mad. They were all fighting away, completely unaware of the druid's presence. That was when Getafix had yelled. And now, they were all blinking at him, stunned into silence by the two little bundles in his arms. There was a moment of quiet, before it was broken by a joyful shout.

"I have a son!" Astronomix cried happily.

"Me too!" Obeliscoidix chorused.

Both fathers ran forward, arms wide. Getafix handed them their newborn children, smiling at the pure joy and love that shown in their eyes.

Astronomix held his little boy above his head. The babe was so small compared to Obeliscoidix's own. He was very light; almost as easy to hold as lifting a feather. His little eyes were closed, but the child's face was lit up in a smile. A little tuft of bright yellow hair on top of his head showed that the boy had inherited his mother's golden locks. The baby was holding on to his father's hand ever so softly as he was lifted above the Gaul's head.

"His name is Asterix!" Astronomix declared for all to hear, "And he'll be as big and strong as his dad!"

"Mine is called Obelix!" Obeliscoidix joined, holding his child aloft as well. "And he'll be as shrewd and cunning as his father!" The babe in his arm babbled in glee. He was a heavy child; solid and sturdily built like his father. The resemblance was striking between the man and his newborn son. The child even had his fathers bright red hair.

"Born at the same time and on the same day, by Toutatis," Getafix chuckled. The fathers lowered their sons and Getafix took the hand of each child and brought them together in front of him. "It's a sign that they'll be best friends forever."

The two fathers gave their new family members a loving smile. Their hearts were filled with a peace and joy they had never felt before. As if they were a part of these little miracles, or the babies were apart of them. Their line would be carried on through them. They were special; both of them, and the fathers could feel that, without a doubt, that Getafix's prediction would be true.

Getafix too had felt it. The strange, close connection between the two children. As if they were supposed to be side by side; like the moon belonged beside the stars. But it was more than that. There was something else. Something darker... As Getafix had held each babe's hand, he had felt a strange feeling sweep over him. A sort of...he wasn't even sure what. An emotion? A feeling? Followed by an intense wave of dangerous foreboding. It only lasted a second, but it was sufficient enough to take Getafix's breath away. He managed to hide his surprise and distress. As he spoke the blessing, he carefully lifted his hand from Obeliscoidix's child, and the feeling didn't return. He tried it with Astronomix's son, and still there was no surge of mysterious awareness to anything abnormal. But the druid _had_ felt it; he was certain. One of the children was more than they appeared to be, but which one was undeterminable.

But that feeling of danger; that foreboding shadow that had all at once flashed in Getafix's mind; what had that been? What did it mean? Getafix didn't know. But, at the moment, another feeling was growing in his soul. A strong feeling; one that even overpowered his desperation to return to Carnutes. A strong need...to stay in the village. But why? He didn't know. But it had something to do with one of these children. He was certain it wasn't both of them. The sensation had left him with that notion. He _had_ to stay; he _needed_ to stay. And as he gazed down at the two babes in their fathers' arms, Getafix decided he _would_ stay.

And stay he did.

The villagers were more than happy to accept him into their community. He became a sort of adviser to them, as well as a doctor, a council member, and a great friend. Years passed, and the children began to grow up. They grew into fine, young men and women, becoming closer to Getafix than their parents had ever been. They all had very defined characteristics, almost like caricatures of themselves, and there were many days that they brought a chuckle and a smile to the druid.

Getafix's skill in magic and potions grew, making him one of the most well know druids of his time. Through intense study and persistence, Getafix eventually created his magnum opus, the Magic Potion. It had the power to grant anyone who drank it inhuman strength for short periods of time; and through the years it saved the village from many a foe. The Romans were starting to take over the land, and soon no other Gaulish villages remained besides their own. They were constantly a target; but they became and remained, what others called, the indomitable Gauls.

Through those years, Getafix kept an eye on the two babes he had helped to deliver. Obelix grew to be of immense size, just like his father. His already impressive strength was enhanced dramatically, since, as a child, the boy had accidentally fallen into a cauldron of Magic Potion. Obelix was blessed with permanent superhuman strength. The large Gaul was kindhearted and caring, though not terribly bright. He was a friend to all and greatly liked, though his closest companion had always been, and always would be, Asterix.

Asterix had grown to look almost exactly like his father. He was the same height and build as his elder, and had many of the same mannerisms. Asterix had been quite the little adventurer when he was little, and that didn't change as he became an adult. He later took the position, to Getafix's surprise, of village warrior, and the druid could think of no one more qualified. Asterix was brave and good-hearted, a combination rare in most men.

Time continued to pass, and as the years seemed to fly by, Getafix began to forget the reason he had decided to stay in the little, Gaulish village. He forgot about that dark, frightening feeling he had felt all that long time ago. Carnutes was restored and the druids returned to their homes. Getafix visited them from time to time, and soon, much of what had happened there was also forgotten...Mastix was forgotten. Everything returned to normal; no, better than normal. Life was wonderful and peaceful, and full of adventures, and there was no reason to believe that any of those dark shadows would ever return. And they didn't...

Until about 35 years after the birth of Asterix and Obelix...


	7. Summer Days

_About 35 years after the birth of Asterix and Obelix..._

The summer sun beat down on the forest relentlessly; casting its warm, golden rays into every nook and every cranny. It sifted through the lush, green leaves of the wood; dancing on the forest floor in a shifting patter of light and shadow. The shade was dark and cool in contrast to the shriveling heat of the summer sunshine. The light caught the small, flowing streams; glinting off their refreshing surfaces. All was still and quiet, other than the soft songs of the forest birds and the gentle hum of insects. Shafts of sunlight descended all around; dust motes drifting within them. In short, a beautiful summer day bathed in color and cloaked in an intense humidity.

Asterix stood perfectly still. He didn't move. He was smiling as his eyes wandered over the peaceful scene; absorbing it and ingraining it into his memory. The Gaul took deep breaths of the heated air around him. It certainly was hot; perhaps the hottest summer they had had in years. But Asterix didn't mind much. It was weather like this that came hand in hand with this calming peace. Romans rarely attacked during these summer days; the heat being more than they could handle in their fabric uniforms and heavy, clunky armor. The Romans would leave the Gauls alone for most of the month. Not that the Romans were exactly enthusiastic about tangling with their indomitable foe. No, things would remain peaceful for quite some time. Asterix, however, still made it a point to scout around, in case some unforeseen threat should raise from the calm.

Asterix stood in the shade, feeling relief from the sun as a gentle breeze drifted through the forest. It felt good to be out of the village. It had been several weeks since any adventures had found their way into the short Gaul's life. And, even though it felt good to have a break, Asterix found himself wishing that _something_ would happen. He wasn't one to sit still for very long. His life had always been one thrilling adventure after another. It kept him on his toes; kept him alert and occupied. But it was times like these, when all he had to do was wander the woods, looking for trouble were there was none to be found, that Asterix began to grow increasingly restless. Not that he wanted trouble; he just wanted something other than this dull drag that remained the same day after day. He longed for the slightest bit of excitement; something to do.

The little Gaul sighed, preparing to turn and continue his stroll when suddenly, out of the clear blue sky, something enormously large and heavy landed right beside him, causing him to give a cry of surprise. The force of the object's impact made a thunderous sound, seeming to shake the very foundations of the earth. The quake threw off Asterix's balance, causing him to stumble back and trip to the ground. He sat there, eyes and mouth open in shock, looking up at the giant hunk of carved stone, commonly known as a menhir, towering over him. It had only missed him by inches.

The sound of light, high-pitched barking filled the air. A moment later, a tiny, black and white dog raced into the clearing. The pup gave a few yaps over his shoulder, signaling to someone behind him. The dog seemed quite pleased with himself, until his little eyes fell on Asterix. The pup gave a concerned whine, running forward to nestle at the short man's side. Asterix gave the dog a gentle pat as he carefully picked himself up off the ground.

"Dogmatix?! Dogmatix, where are you, boy?!" The voice came from within the forest somewhere to their right. Asterix wasn't surprised to hear it; in fact, he had expected it.

"He's over here, Obelix," Asterix called back, and Dogmatix added a bark to confirm that it was true.

There was a moment in which the sound of heavy footsteps was heard, along with the crackle and crunch of shrubbery being crushed into the earth. Then, lumbering at his own pace, Obelix stepped into the clearing as well. His eyes lit up when he spotted his two closest friends.

"Ah, there you are, Dogmatix," the giant Gaul hummed happily. He reached down and Dogmatix ran forward to jump into his master's arms; licking Obelix's nose in joy. The big fellow chuckled, sending Asterix a smile. "Hello, Asterix! I didn't know you were out here in the forest! I've been teaching Dogmatix how to fetch, you see." He beamed with pride, ruffling the pup's ears.

Asterix shifted his gaze between the tiny dog sitting in Obelix's palm and the huge stone now partially embedded in the ground. It was more than obvious that Dogmatix would not be able to even budge the menhir, never mind fetch it. Obelix was the only one who _could_ lift it, really, due to the permanent effects the Magic Potion had had on him. Oh, the others could do it with the help of the Magic Potion, but Obelix was even stronger than that. The big Gaul always forgot his own strength. He forgot, quite often, that the others couldn't always do what he could. And because of that, Obelix often did things that were harmless games to him, but were rather hazardous to the rest of the Gauls. Throwing menhirs being one of the main ones.

Asterix remembered a particular time in which Obelix had accidentally dropped a menhir on Getaix, their village druid. Now _that_ had been a disaster! The druid had completely lost it; running about and laughing hysterically for quite some time. Luckily, things had all worked out in the end, and Getafix had returned to normal. But it was a frightening example of what an ill-timed menhir throw could result in; one that had stuck in all the Gauls' memories.

The smaller Gaul crossed his arms over his chest and fixed his friend with a chiding glare. "Obelix, what have I told you about throwing menhirs in the forest? You can't see well with all the trees, and you could hit someone. You very nearly hit me!" He gestured to the immense stone that was about five times his size. It would have crushed him like an insect had it landed on him.

Obelix looked over at his rocky possession. It had settled deep into the grass, making it seem as if it had always been there and always would be. To him the stone was practically weightless, and Obelix found it hard to understand how such a tiny, little menhir could be such a problem. But Obelix knew better than to argue with Asterix about this subject, and so he muttered an apology and then quickly changed the subject.

"Any luck on the patrols?"

Asterix's scowl quickly morphed into a smile. He knew that by 'any luck' his friend meant 'had he run into any fun Romans to attack'. If there was one thing Obelix loved more than throwing menhirs, it was giving the Romans a good pummeling. Not that Obelix was cruel; far from it. It was just sort of a sport with him, and he never caused any serious damage to the soldiers. Black eyes and bruises was as violent as any of the Gauls would ever get with them.

"Sorry, Obelix," Asterix chuckled sympathetically, "I've been all through these woods this morning. You're the first soul I've seen since break...fast..."

"Speaking of breakfast, why don't we head back to the village and...Asterix?...Asterix are you listening to what I'm saying?"

The smaller Gaul had turned abruptly during their conversation to look into the forest, and was now standing perfectly still. Obelix was cross at first, thinking that his friend was purposely ignoring him. But then he noticed how tense Asterix had become. He was standing in an odd way, as if he were ready to run at a moment's notice. He was breathing very shallowly; an attempt to better hear...something...But what really got Obelix's attention was how Asterix's hand was hovering over the little, green gourd of Magic Potion his friend always kept strapped to his side. Asterix only used it when it was absolutely necessary; when there was great need or danger.

"Asterix..." Obelix lowered is voice to a whisper. "What's wrong?"

"I...I don't know." Asterix remained as he was for several long moments more, then he seemed to relax again. His hand moved away from the magic potion on his belt. He gave a tired sigh, looking up at his concerned friend. "I thought there was something there for a second...but it's gone now."

"Was it a Roman?" Obelix asked hopefully.

"No." Of that Asterix was certain.

"Well, then what was it?"

"I don't know; I didn't see it."

Obelix blinked in confusion, his face twisting into a puzzled frown. "But if you didn't see it, how do you know it wasn't a Roman?"

Asterix was gaining a somewhat confused expression himself. "I...I don't know how to explain it." He shivered a little, despite the heat of the day. "I...I guess I just knew it was there. I could feel it." He stared in the direction that feeling had come from, but still he saw nothing.

Beside him, Obelix and Dogmatix exchanged looks; the big Gaul tapping a finger repeatedly against his head. Asterix noticed the motion and looked up at his friend sharply. When Obelix gave him a guilty look, Asterix simply couldn't keep a straight face.

"Oh, come on, Obelix," Asterix chuckled, giving his friend a playful shove that didn't even budge him. "Let's head back to the village. I've got to give Chief Vitalstitistix my report."

Obelix looked pleased with the idea, but he was still a little concerned for his friend. "What about what you...felt?"

"Oh, I'm sure it's just the heat getting to me," the smaller Gaul assured. "Just my imagination."

"You sure? You're not ill?"

Now Asterix laughed. Obelix might not be the brightest man who ever lived, but he certainly had a big heart. He was always worrying over others, but especially Asterix. It had been that way for many years; ever since Obelix had fallen into Getafix's cauldron of Magic Potion when he was a little boy. Before the incident, Asterix used to defend his plumper companion against the bullying of the other boys. Afterwards, when Obelix gained permanent strength, it seemed he was always trying to repay the favor. Asterix appreciated it, and it made their friendship all the stronger.

"Yes, Obelix, I'm sure. Now lets go."

With that, the two Gauls and their canine friend made their way back toward their village. It was nearly midday now, and the heat had reached its highest. The air was stale with it, breathing in thick and humid into their lungs. They left the shades of the forest for the sun-pressed stretch of grass between the woods and the village walls. All seemed well enough, but, despite Asterix's assurances, the little Gaul still couldn't shake that feeling that something wasn't quite right. Like they were being watched, and he had to fight the urge to whirl around and face the forest to look.

...

The sound of yelling and shouting in the village alerted Asterix to the problem long before he actually saw it. Picking up his pace, he rounded the corner to be greeted with the sight of an intense fish fight in full swing. Fish and other bits of assorted mackerel were strewn all over the square. Dust was billowing up all around the teaming pile of rage-filled men; legs and arms kicking out in all directions. To the side, Unhygenix and Fulliautomatix, no doubt the start of the whole brawl, rolled about, hitting each other with fish. The rest of the men were either fighting with their fists, feet, their helmets, or, in one fellow's case, an unfortunate chicken who had chosen the wrong time of day to take a leisurely stroll.

Asterix stood watching, arms hanging loosely at his sides and his mouth agape at the mess the menfolk were making.

Fights like these were not uncommon. In fact, it wasn't unusual to have two or three a day. It had become a part of life in the village. Sometimes even the woman participated. Obelix found it a fantastic sport and good 'practice', as he called it, for when they next visited the Romans. Asterix, personally, rarely joined in the rowdy exercise. He disliked the brute force it displayed, especially Gaul against Gaul. It was an opinion that Asterix shared with Getfix wholeheartedly.

Beside him, Obelix clapped his hands in excitement. "Oh! A fight! Come on, Asterix! Let's join in!"

Asterix shook his head resolutely. "No, Obelix. You know what Getafix said before he left. We have to stop this before it gets out of hand." He took a few steps toward the mass of jerking arms and legs and dust. "Hey!" No one noticed. Asterix cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled louder. "Hey! Stop that!" Still no response. Asterix was just about to try something a little more drastic, when he felt a heavy hand on his shoulder. Looking up he found it was Obelix. His big friend gave him a nod and took a deep breath. Asterix suddenly thought to cover his ears, and was very glad he did.

"STOP FIGHTING!"

Obelix's voice was amazingly loud, as well as deep. The sound vibrated the ground beneath their feet, and was probably heard as far as Rome. The brawl came to a grinding halt as all the Gauls let out a gasp and covered their own ears. The dust settled and the punching stopped. The echoes of Obelix's shout were still hanging over the village somewhere as they all turned to face them.

Fulliautomatix winced, testing to see if the shout had finally dissipated. He found that it had and instantly marched toward the two Gauls with a look of anger pasted on his red face. The others were not far behind him.

"What do you think you're doing?!" he grouched, jabbing a finger into Obelix's enormous stomach. He glared at the bigger man, demanding an answer, but it was Asterix who provided that.

"What do you think _you_ are doing?!" he retorted sharply, jabbing his own finger into Fulliautomatix's taught chest. "We're not supposed to fight when Getafix isn't here!"

"And why not?!" Unhygenix piped up hotly. His face was red too. In fact, all the Gauls looked terribly flushed and overheated. It suddenly struck Asterix that the heat might be affecting the mens' moods. Summer weather had made them restless too; they just had a different way of releasing it than he did.

Forcing himself to calm down, Asterix spoke more gently. "If somebody gets hurt during a fight when Getafix isn't here, we have no Magic Potion to help heal the wounds."

"Aw, come on, Asterix," another Gaul spoke up. "It's not like we're going to get _that_ rough."

Asterix sent the speaker an exasperated look. The fellow was covered in bruises, many of which looked quite nasty. He let his gaze fall on the others, and they all lowered their eyes, knowing how foolish a statement that had been. They _did_ get that rough. Quite often. From time to time, someone would get hurt; more than just a bruise, and Getafix would heal them and then lecture them all about the danger of being too rowdy. But the fights would always start up again, sometimes only a few hours after Getafix had lectured them.

Asterix sighed. "Getafix will be back in a couple days. Do you think you guys can keep from wringing each other's necks until then?" As he gave them all a stern star, Asterix had to try hard to keep from smiling. He might act all tough on them, but he was really fond of what these people were. But he couldn't stand for anything to happen to anyone. And, at the moment, they had no way of treating anything serious. Even though Asterix had a little bit of Magic Potion, that was for emergencies, and the little warrior wanted to avoid those at all costs. They'd have to be extra careful, until the druid's return, and Getafix wouldn't be back for a few more days yet.

The druid had received a message from Carnutes three days before, saying that the Council of Druids were meeting for a matter of 'great urgency' and that he was required to attend. The message had been sent by the Venerable Druid himself. Asterix had wanted to go. Not for his own sake, but for Getafix's. There had been more than one occasion when some enemy or another got it into their heads that if they captured the Gauls' druid, then the Gauls would be helpless. And, though that was essentially true, the Gauls cared just as much for Getafix's safety as they did for his skill. The druid had been a friend to many of them since they were children. Asterix and Obelix couldn't remember a time when Getafix hadn't been there for them. Of course, that had largely to do with the fact that the druid arrived only a day before their birth. Getafix was almost like a second father to Asterix, which was why Asterix fought so hard to convince druid to let him accompany the him to Carnutes.

But, this time, Getafix had refused. The druid had insisted that he would feel much better about leaving if Asterix remained in the village. He wanted the little Gaul to help Vitalstitistix keep things in order; keep the other villagers from throttling one another. But Asterix felt there was more to it than that. Since the arrival of the message until the time Getafix left, the druid had been very agitated; almost fidgety. It made Asterix nervous and worried. But, despite his objections, Asterix finally agreed to stay behind. He did so grudgingly, but, really, he had no choice in the matter. Getafix could be extremely strong willed, and, as village druid, he really did have the authority to tell Asterix what to do.

Asterix finally managed to get the angry Gauls calmed enough to promise they wouldn't have any more brawls...at least for a while. They all went of, grouching as they went. Asterix could feel his own temper simmering within him. It was the heat. That was the problem. The heat was making them all irritable, and snappy. But, somehow, Asterix was able to push it down. He had to keep his cool, so to speak. As village warrior, a lot of people looked up to him. It would not do for him to give in to his agitations.

Once everything was settled, Asterix told Obelix he would return in a moment. "I have to report in to Chief Vitalstitistix."

Obelix nodded. "I'll meet you over at your hut." He smiled as he rubbed his stomach, and Asterix already knew that he would be entertaining Obelix for lunch. That was fine by him. Asterix and Obelix did that quite often; it had become a sort of tradition. And so, with a nod, the two Gauls headed in their prospective directions.

Asterix swiftly made his way toward the Chief's hut. He had actually already passed it, back when he and Obelix had first entered the village, but Asterix had been distracted by the fight and had gone on by. Now, as he returned to his leader's abode, he saw that Impedimenta, Vitalstitistix's wife, was outside sweeping. She was kicking up a lot of dirt, which made one wonder what good the sweeping was actually doing.

Impedimenta was one of the few villagers who had not lived in the village all their lives. She originally came from Lutetia, considered the greatest city in the universe, where Asterix had heard her mention having a merchant brother...Homeopathix, if Asterix recalled correctly. He lived there with his wife, Tapioca. Asterix and Obelix had met him once, when Vitalstitistix and Impedimenta had gone to visit one year. While the food and wine of the wealthy merchant had been excellent, the company had been rather distasteful. Not that Homeopathix was an unpleasant fellow, but he and Vitalstitistix never really got along. They had fought and argued, which led to other lengthy, complicated adventures.

Vitalstitistix and Impedimenta had met one day, in the Lutetia marketplace, and Vitalstitistix had fallen in love with her immediately. After some time of constant wooing and bothersome practices in which the Chief forced many to be a part of, Vitalstitistix finally won her heart. She had been with the village now for quite a number of years. She often complained of their 'barbarianism', threatening to return to her brother in Lutetia; but everyone new she loved it in the village and wouldn't leave it for the world.

"Good afternoon, Impedimenta," Asterix greeted, coming up to stand beside her. She gave him a look that told him at once that he had stopped by at the wrong time. The chief's wife was known for her nagging tongue and fiery temper. There were days in which it was questioned who was actually in charge of the village, her or Vitalstitistix. She was strong willed and wasn't shy about being heard. You wanted to make sure you stayed on her good side, lest you may find yourself regretting it. And, right now, Asterix found himself regretting even coming a hundred yards in proximity to her.

"Well," she huffed, looking him up and down. "I certainly hope you enjoyed your _nice_ , _work-free_ stroll in the forest, Asterix! While the rest of us were here, slaving away!" She gave him a glare and returned to sweeping, kicking up even more dust.

Asterix was annoyed by her accusation, though he managed to hold back the retort that had almost escaped his lips. He knew she really didn't mean it. He also knew that she knew that he _had_ been working. It was his duty to keep the village safe; to scout out the area for any problems that might arise. It was the heat getting to her. As it was to them all. The villagers, including Impedimenta, were never this cranky. Never this cross with him. Well, almost never. They usually respected him for what he did, and his total devotion to his occupation as the village warrior. But, once in a while, when they were frightened, or mad, or, apparently, overheated, they would sometimes forget how much Asterix meant to them. They'd start to take him for granted. But Asterix always knew it wouldn't last long. It never did. Sometime tomorrow the apologies would start and the day after, everything would be back to normal.

Asterix muttered a quick response and carefully skirted around the grumbling woman to enter the Chief's hut. The room within was dark compared to the outside would of bright, glaring sunshine. But, despite the relief from the light, the intense heat still resided. In fact, it made the room very stuffy; more like an oven than a house. As his eyes began to adjust to the indoor lighting, Asterix noticed his Chief sitting slumped in his chair. Asterix hesitated, realizing that Vitalstitistix was asleep. He thought of maybe leaving and coming back later, but then thought better of it. The Chief and Getafix always told him to give very prompt reports. Not reporting, even on an uneventful day like this, could cause a problem later on. It had been known to happen.

"Uh...Chief?" Asterix gave his leader a gentle shake. When that failed, he shook a little harder. "Chief Vitalstitistix?" All he got in response was a loud snore. Sighing, Asterix braced himself for what he knew would be an unpleasant audience with the man, and shouted, "Chief!"

Vitalstitistix gave a choking sputter, kicking feet nearly catching Asterix in the face. The Chief sat up with a snort, looking frightened and confused. "What?! Who?! I was a-" He noticed the little man standing sheepishly in front of him. "Oh, by Toutatis, Asterix!" he cried angrily. "What in blazes do you want?!"

Asterix flinched back a little. _Great; another Gaul suffering from a short temper this morning._ "I-I was just reporting in, Chief."

"Well?! What is it?!"

"No Romans to be seen in the forest. No one at all, really. Everything is safe and quiet."

Vitalstitistix scowled. "And you woke me up to tell me _that_?"

"...Yes, Chief."

Vitalstitistix ran a hand over his face, which, like the others, was very flushed. "Very well, very well," he muttered, "Now can I go back to sleep?" He didn't wait for an answer, but instead settled back into his chair with another snore. Asterix gave him a mock salute and then turned and marched out of the hut. He didn't even say goodbye to Impedimenta on the way out.

Asterix had a lot of patience; that was true. But he could only take so much. If the others were having a bad day, they didn't have to take it out on him! Maybe that was why they targeted him; they knew he could take it. Well, he had had his maximum amount for today. He stomped off; he needed to get away from them for a while. Until they all calmed down a little. Asterix hadn't even been able to tell Vitalstitistix about the strange feeling he had had in the forest. The Chief was not in the mood for that. No one was. And now, neither was he.

Asterix headed back toward his hut to meet Obelix for lunch. At least the heat never seemed to affect his big friend. Obelix would be his cheery self, and Asterix knew that, by the time the meal was over, he would feel much less tense and upset. By Toutatis, this was turning out to be a harder few days than he had ever anticipated! With Getafix gone, everything felt as if it were slowly spiraling out of control. Asterix found himself hoping the meeting in Carnutes would be very brief.

The sooner Getafix returned, the better.


	8. Unwanted Visitor

Getaix was overwhelmed with a strong feeling of Déjà vu. Sitting in the Great Hall of the Carnutes brought back many memories, both good and bad. But mostly bad. Getafix could only gaze at the enormous, rectangular room with images of the past still printed fresh in his mind. The Great Hall had changed a lot since last he had seen it. Of course, that was because it had been almost completely destroyed. A large amount of work had been put into restoring it; digging the room out after the terrible earthquakes and replacing the intricately designed pillars. But, despite the obvious care that had been taken, it was no where near its former glory. Its once flawless architecture was crooked and sagging. Its once smooth corners were now sharp and angled. It was really a shame; and it brought back thoughts that had long been buried and forgotten.

Getafix had arrived in the Forest of the Carnutes the day before. He had been greeted by many old friends, many of whom he hadn't seen for quite some time. They were all just as puzzled as he as to why an urgent meeting had been called. They wouldn't know until the Venerable Druid returned from...wherever he had been. They had been waiting for the better part of the night and day. Getafix had insisted on staying in the Great Hall the entire time. He had been offered to spend the night in his own private room, but he declined. The Hall brought back enough unpleasant memories. Getafix decided to spend the night sitting up in the Great Hall, and he wasn't the only one. Very few of the druids seemed at ease in the Carnutes, except for those who had resided there these last few years.

Getafix found that he felt even less at ease knowing he was underground. After all, he had spent the past thirty-five years in the sun-filled world above. He found it made him feel trapped and almost claustrophobic. Getafix was very relieved, as were the others, when it was announced that the Venerable Druid had returned.

The Chief Venerable Druid made his way swiftly into the room, followed, to Getafix's pleasure, by the druid Valuaddetax. Everyone straightened themselves in their seats; coming to full attention. The Venerable Druid seated himself at the head of the table, again with Valuaddetax beside him. Getafix noticed that they both looked quite worn. That was to be expected, since they had supposed to have just returned from a journey of sorts. But that wasn't it; there was something more. A worry creased their exhaustion; showing hidden in their expressions. They were practically fidgeting, the plumper druid especially.

The Venerable Druid stood, directing his gaze around the table. His eyes rested on Getafix a few moments longer than on the others, and it made Getafix even more uneasy. He had been steadily growing anxious since he had first received the letter. Something in the way it was worded pricked an emotion in the back of his mind. Fear? Definitely apprehension.

"My dear fellow druids," the Venerable Druid began, "I am very sorry to take you away from your homes on such short notice, but as our letter stated, this meeting was called for an urgent reason." Again the Chief Druid's eyes wandered to rest on Getafix. It was as if he were basing the meeting's success off of Getafix's reaction alone. He shifted his gaze away, sweeping it over them all before dropping the news like a fifty ton menhir. "We have reason to believe...that Mastix has returned."

A collective gasp went up from them all, followed by a terrible, stunned silence. Memories were flooding back to one and all. Those who had managed to conceal their discomfort of being back in the Carnutes were now no longer able to do so. They all flitted their eyes about the Great Hall, as though they expected it to fall and crush them just at that evil druid's name. Getafix himself felt the bottom drop out of his stomach. Mastix? Back? It made him feel sick at the thought. His intuition had been correct. Something had been wrong; but he never would have guessed this meeting would be about Mastix. The silence was quickly broken as cries of fear or protest made themselves heard.

"Mastix? Are you sure?"

"He's come back for revenge!"

"But it can't be him! It's been years! Decades! Wouldn't he have come back long ago if he were ever going to?"

The druids' voices rose to a startlingly loud crescendo, making it hard to understand what _anyone_ was saying. Only three men in all the Hall remained still and silent. The Venerable Druid, Valuaddetax, and Getafix. For Getafix, he didn't even hear the ruckus. He sat staring into space, contemplating just what it all meant. Trouble. That's what it meant. Trouble, fear, and pain. Mastix was always paired with those three elements. Getafix raised his eyes and met those of the Venerable Druid. That was why the Chief druid had been gauging his reactions. Of all those present, Getafix had been most familiar with Mastix. Besides the Venerable Druid, Getafix had known Mastix best. Maybe, in some instances, he knew him better. Getafix had always seen the worst of Mastix's character. The characteristics that only reared their ugly heads when their teacher left the room. When Mastix knew no one was watching. Getafix had always seen the worst; Mastix's cruel nature and undruidic behavior.

"Please, please; calm down!" The Venerable Druid tried to regain control of the situation. After a moment, it worked and he was able to resume. "I know that name brings back a lot of terrible memories, and I know it seems unlikely, but there is no doubting it. He has been spotted by a number of persons...including myself. He passed through the Forest of the Carnutes the day before last. He was seen days before that to the East, rising from the Dark Wood. There is no question about it; Mastix is still alive, and he has returned."

Getafix suddenly felt great fear for the druidic leader. "O Venerable Druid, shouldn't you flee from here? You were the one who banished Mastix. Will he not come here seeking revenge on you?" The other druids mumbled their agreement. The Venerable Druid had indeed been responsible for deciding factor in the sentence for Mastix's fate. Of all those present, he would be the one most at risk.

The Venerable Druid shook his head sadly. "If it were tens years before now, or even five, that would be most true. But things have changed, Getafix. Many things. Things that are sure to have swayed Mastix's motives to reenter our lives."

Getafix raised an eyebrow in question, not fulling understand his past mentor's meaning.

"Tell me, Getafix," the Chief Druid inquired, "Above all else, what did Mastix crave?"

Getafix blinked, thrown off by the directness of the question. "He wanted to be the most renowned druid of our time," he answered simply. They all knew that was true.

"And who, Getafix, among those gathered here today, fits that description?"

Getafix opened his mouth to answer but then snapped it shut as realization dawned on him.

The Venerable Druid nodded as he recognized the understanding in Getafix's eyes. "That has always been Mastix's goal; to be the best. To rise above us all, no matter the cost. He even murdered for it, and still he never attained that which he desired. And then, years later, you, Getafix, are deemed the Druid of the year. You have remained in that position for some time, due to your wonderful Magic Potion." He sighed. "I fear that Mastix is not after me, but you."

"Me?!" The thought sent shivers up and down Getafix's spine. He had seen the damage Mastix's wrath could do. He had seen it crumble their home to rubble, divide them for nearly twenty-seven years, and frighten normally calm, collected druids practically out of their wit. And that had been a general wrath focused over a number of people and places. He couldn't fathom the power such anger could do to when focused on a single man. "But...but, are you sure?"

The Venerable Druid's face was shadowed with a dark cloud of regret. "I wish that I was not. But there is no other alternative possibility. He passed through the Carnutes, remember? He was headed toward the Northwest. For what other reason would he head that way than to find you?" The Chief Druid gestured around him. "That is why I called you all here; to warn you, but also to bring you here, Getafix. I wanted you to know that you are welcome here at the Forest of the Carnutes, just as you have always been. It is a safer fortress then it was back then. Many of us have devised spells that should deflect any danger Mastix poses to us. You may all stay." He turned back to Getafix. "It is important that you are kept away from him, Getafix. He means you harm, of that I am certain. And he wants your Magic Potion, of that I am even more certain."

Getafix's head was still reeling from this revelation. "You mean, he's coming after me; for the magic potion? Why?! What will that accomplish?!"

"It may only be that he wants you out of the way, Getafix," Valuaddetax finally spoke up. "Then he could easily become the most renowned druid in the known world." He gave Getafix a pleading look. "Please, stay here with us. Mastix must know that you live with those Gauls. If you stay here you'll be safe and he won't find you as easily."

"Now, Valuaddetax, you know I would love t-" Suddenly, Getafix's eyes opened wide and he stood abruptly from his seat. "Mastix knows I live with the Gauls?!" he cried, eyes flying to the Venerable Druid in panic. "But if he knows that he'll head there right away!"

"Exactly," Valuaddetax whimpered, frightened by his friend's reaction. "That's why we summoned you here as quickly as we could."

"But that means the village is in danger!"

"You don't know that, Getafix," the Venerable Druid said soothingly. He too was taken aback by Getafix's behavior. The years of living with the non-druids had changed Getafix over time. He was far more emotional than most of his own people; and this was a perfect example. "Mastix could arrive at your village, realize you're no where in sight, and then turn around and leave."

" _Could?_ " The druids all winced at the high pitched shout. "I'm not about to hang the lives of an entire village on a _could_!" He moved back from the table, gathering his belongings as he did so. "I appreciate your warning, O Venerable Druid; but I cannot stand by in safety when my friends may be in danger. I have to go back." He stopped, realizing what a scene he had been making. But he wasn't going to back down now. He looked to his past mentor, eyes pleading to be given permission to go.

The Venerable Druid looked worried for his friend, but he knew Getafix was a strong willed individual. He had passions for things that the rest of the druids couldn't quite understand. But the Venerable Druid saw the fear in Getafix's eyes. Fear for his friends. That the Venerable Chief Druid _did_ understand. With great reluctance he gave his permission. "May Toutatis grant you speed and safety, Druid Getafix. Our hearts go with you."

Getafix gave a nodded thanks before swiftly leaving the room. The sound of his retreating footsteps was all that was audible in the silence that followed. And soon, even that faded away to quiet. The druids sat at the long, oak tables; many staring down at the worn, wooden boards. They all felt a feeling of dread reach into their hearts. Fear for Getafix; and worry for his safe return. Getafix was well-liked among his peers. No one wanted to lose his friendship. No one wanted to lose him.

Getafix exited the tunnel and stepped out into the late afternoon sunlight. He headed in a Northwest direction at once, without even a pause. His heart was full of fears; they were gnawing away at him with a vengeance. He didn't know what to expect when he reached the little Gaulish village, but his feelings told him it would be good. He had to hurry. It would take all night to get there. Normally the trip would take about a day and a half; sleeping overnight in the forest at leisure. But, if he kept a quick, determined pace, Getafix was sure he could be back in the village by later morning. Even that was far too long for his nerves.

Mastix was sure to be looking for him; and his friends would have no way of knowing the danger Mastix would pose.

* * *

The sweltering sun was setting in the West, shining red and gold on the water beside the Gaulish village. It rippled and danced with the waves, giving the impression of a woven carpet of color that swept off into eternity. It was beautiful. Along with its beauty, the hot rays of the summer day reduced to a pleasant warmth. Shadows were lengthening and a light, balmy breeze shifted through the long, dry grasses, causing them to swish against one another. Crickets and other nightly artists began their nocturnal symphonies, adding to the calm of the evening. Everything seemed to glow a pinkish, rose color, due to the sunset far on the horizon.

Asterix and Obelix sat side by side, viewing the breath-taking scene. It was beautiful, like something out of fantasy. Like a painting from Greece, or a statue from Egypt, inlaid with gold; it was a masterpiece. Even though the heat had not bothered them too badly, the two Gauls still felt relieved at the distinct change in temperature. It made up for everything they had endured earlier. Every hot-tempered person they'd come across was worth it if it meant they could live in this Heaven on Earth for but a second.

They had just been returning from Asterix's evening rounds when the sun began its brilliant show. Asterix always checked the forest twice, just to be safe. Once in the morning, and once in the evening. He was probably overdoing it; he knew, but one could never be too careful. Too many times had problems or threats arisen from the hidden safety of the forest. Asterix never wanted that to happen again. Of course, he couldn't always discover dangers before they arrived; but he was willing to always give it his best try.

Asterix sighed contentedly as he absently twisted and tore the grass beneath his hands. It felt good to relax. Not that he had done much that day; but that was just it. He felt more exhausted from _lack_ of activity than he would from an all out invasion by the Romans would leave him. It really had been a long day. A long day of practically nothing happening. He and Obelix had spent much of their time staying out of the other Gauls' way. But now, with the cool of the evening settling around them, Asterix was sure that the villagers' mood would have improved. He had almost felt like as outcast for most of the day, and he was looking forward to being accepted in once more. He tried not to let it bother him, but, try as he might, he never could quite succeed.

"They didn't mean anything by it, Asterix," Obelix spoke up softly beside him, and Asterix vaguely wondered how his friend knew what he had been thinking. "You know how they are." The big Gaul tapped a finger to his head several times, causing Asterix to laugh. Obelix was right, of course. The villagers _didn't_ mean to hurt Asterix's feelings. It had just been one of those days when everyone seemed to be snappy; looking for someone to snap _at_. It happened from time to time, but it never got any less painful.

"I just wish they wouldn't take it all out on me," Asterix confided, "It...really starts to wear me down." He quickly returned his gaze back out toward the sunset, trying to hide the expression that he couldn't seem to hold back from his face. He hadn't expected himself to suddenly get all emotional about it. Maybe this was bothering him more than he realized...He decided to shy away from the subject altogether. "It's going to be a clear night tonight, Obelix. I bet Getafix will be out star-watching in the Carnutes. You know how much he enjoys the night sky." Again Asterix wished for Getafix to return. The village was never the same when he was away. And Asterix found that he had no one to bring his problems to. Oh, he could always talk to Obelix, but Obelix didn't always understand. The druid understood, and was able to give him helpful advice whenever the smaller Gaul found himself in question. That was what Asterix needed.

Obelix watched as his friend abruptly changed their discussion. He knew Asterix well enough to see that the short Gaul was upset. But he also knew that Asterix didn't want to talk about it. Doing so would show weakness. Asterix was the village warrior; he had to be strong. Even when Obelix knew the little Gaul was struggling inwardly, he saw how Asterix always managed to focus on everybody else but himself. That was why Obelix got mad when the villagers became cranky toward his friend. All the Gauls saw sometimes was Asterix the Warrior; strong and unbeatable. But Obelix always saw the other side of his friend. The side that stood silently gazing out toward the setting sun, breathing deeply as he absorbed its beauty. The side that wasn't always strong, and wasn't always unbeatable. The Asterix that, sometimes, needed assurance, just like anyone else. Personally, Obelix thought it was ridiculous to hide ones feelings, but he respected Asterix's habits, whether he agreed with them or not.

Patting Asterix's back a few times in a comforting manner, just to let his friend know he understood, Obelix allowed the conversation to shift. "What do you think the urgent meeting of the druids is about, Asterix?"

His friend's face quickly changed from downcast to mild curiosity. Asterix had always enjoyed a good mystery, even the small ones. When people didn't tell him what was going on, he was determined to figure it out himself, one way or another. That was another characteristic that had stayed with him since childhood. "I don't know, Obelix. It was a rather sudden thing. He got that letter without any prior warning; with only a day to reach the Carnutes in time. Whatever they must be discussing must be very important."

"I good kind of important?" Obelix asked. He wondered whether it might be some new potion or spell that they could test the Romans with. That was always fun. It never did any harm, none that lasted long anyway. And it was always terribly funny when they reacted by turning odd colors. Of course, that had only happened once, and Getafix and Asterix were completely against that type of experimentation now.

Asterix paused, thinking, and then shook his head. He though back to the day Getafix had left. He remembered it clearly, having felt rather ill-at ease at the time. "I don't think so...Getafix seemed kind of upset after he read that letter. He became fidgety, and he wouldn't let me leave the village to go with him."

Obelix shrugged. "That's what he usually does. He always puts up a fight when we try to travel with him; to guard him."

"Yes, Obelix, I know. But this time it was different. All those times he refused to let us come was because he believed it was all quite unnecessary; that nothing would happen."

"Which it always did," Obelix added quickly.

"But this time it was almost like he wanted us to stay because he knew something _would_ happen."

Obelix gave him a look. "Like what?"

"I don't know. It's just a feeling." Asterix sighed. He seemed to be 'feeling' a lot lately. He wasn't sure he liked it. He felt like there was constantly something hanging over their heads. Something dangerous, but he couldn't see it or figure it out. Asterix watched as the last rays of the sun began to sink slowly into the West. It would be dark soon, and though Asterix knew there was nothing in the world to fear when Obelix was with him, he still didn't treasure the idea of being outside the gate after dusk. No sense tempting trouble. "Come along, Obelix. Time to head back to the village for supper."

Obelix favored that idea immediately. He clapped his hands, rubbing them together in anticipation of a good meal. "Oh, goody!" He made his way to his feet, his stomach giving an insistent gurgle as he did so, as if it too was giving its approval. "Wait while I find Dogmatix."

"Where is he?" Asterix suddenly became aware that he hadn't seen hide or hair of the little creature for the last several minutes. He was certain Dogmatix had been with them, right up to when they sat down to watch the sun set.

"I let him wonder a little while we were enjoying the view." Obelix started waddling off, his feet beating down the grass wherever he walked. He began calling for his little canine friend, raising his voice so that the pup couldn't possibly miss it. "Dogmatix! Come on, boy, it's time to go have supper!" He paused, waiting to hear a sharp yap in response. But all he heard was the ebbing tide down by the beach and the persistent chirps of crickets.

The two Gauls wandered about the grasslands that stretched out in front of the village gates. The straw-like grass was dry and wispy; long and fine, and was certain to contain many hiding places for a tiny dog like Dogmatix. The pup was usually very playful; hiding and running like most dogs, especially when you were trying to catch him. Dogmatix always found great sport in that. But he was always within sight then, and, as a rule, Dogmatix always came when Obelix called him. Always. Never failed. And the fact that Dogmatix was still nowhere in sight quickly caused both Gauls to worry.

"Dogmatix?!" Obelix's voice rose an octave as his anxiety began to grow. Even Asterix began to call out for the pup.

They searched high and low in the fields, all the while calling for Dogmatix, but still they couldn't find him. With each shout, that echoed all around them, they were only rewarded with silence and no black and white pup. Obelix was starting to panic as the shadows began to replace the golden light of the sun. The beauty of the sunset was forgotten as they continued their hunt.

Obelix looked about him worriedly, red pigtails swinging from side to side as he did. He noticing the few, weak stars that were just beginning to appear in the East of the navy blue sky, where the rays of the sun no longer reached. He was frightened, not knowing where his little friend was; and Dogmatix was so very small. A pup that tiny could easily get into trouble. He could fall into a ditch, or a hole. Or he could trip and land in the water. Dogmatix wasn't a very good swimmer. He could even have wondered into the woods and - the woods! They hadn't checked there yet!

"Asterix!" Obelix called over his shoulder as he bolted for the forest, "Let's try the woods!" He desperately wanted to find Dogmatix before darkness fell completely. I would be hard to find the pup at night. By Toutatis, he was even hard to spot during the day sometimes. His size was greatly to be blamed for that.

Asterix nodded and followed as quickly as he could. The little Gaul was worried about Dogmatix as well, though not nearly as much as his friend. He knew that the pup always came back; he would show up eventually. But it was getting dark, and Dogmatix was still quite young. And small. He could easily become a snack for some larger beast in the late night forest. Now _that_ was something worth worrying about! Asterix quickened his pace, entering the forest shortly after Obelix did.

Asteix wasn't able to keep up with his friend, since Obelix was permanently aided in strength by the effects of the Magic Potion and he was not. Obelix could run at amazing speeds, leaving Asterix coughing in the dust. Of course, Asterix could use his own stash of Potion that he carried at his side if he chose, but he decided against it. He only used that for emergencies, and he wasn't sure whether this counted as one yet or not. He needed to preserve his little store, lest real trouble should arise.

It didn't take long before Asterix stumbled to a halt in a dark, quiet clearing. Ahead of him he could see the crushed path Obelix had plowed through the dry shrubbery, and, though his friend was nowhere in sight, he could hear his booming voice in the distance, still calling for Dogmatix. Asterix was panting hard, hands resting on his knees as he attempted to gain his breath. He just needed to take a moment to rest. His short legs weren't made for running long distances and, even though Asterix was in good shape, there was no way he could go at the rate Obelix could; not without help. And so he stood still, waiting for his heart and breathing to slow.

He went over Dogmatix's disappearance in his mind. He was certain of when the pup had been with them. The dog had been at their heels all during Asterix's rounds, even trotting with them whenever they picked up the pace. And now, Dogmatix was nowhere to be seen. That meant that the dog had gone missing during when they had been gazing at the scenery. Obelix had said he had let Dogmatix 'wander', which meant that Dogmatix had been with them just after they had sat down. But it still didn't make any sense. The pup never left Obelix's side. How far would he 'wander'? Usually, not far at all. So the question was why he had wandered at all? Asterix shook his head. It just didn't make any sense.

Asterix was just about to head off again, feeling he should join Obelix, when suddenly he felt a shiver run down his spine. It surprised him; hitting him for no reason that he could think of. The air became oddly cold as the last bit of light was dragged away with the setting sun behind the horizon. Darkness fell so abruptly, Asterix was genuinely startled by it. He looked around him, trying to fight a terrible urge to yell out for Obelix. But that would be childish. There was no danger; not that he could see. That strange feeling he had felt that morning had returned. A sort of discomfort; a fear that seemed to come from all around him rather than from within him. Like the eyes of a hundred people were suddenly boring into him from every side; filled with an unfathomable animosity. Asterix's heart sped back up and his breathing became short. Suddenly, just when he was wondering how much longer he could fight the urge to run, the feeling left. Like a door being slammed shut, it was cut off and Asterix no longer felt it. It ended so abruptly that it left him gasping; struggling to calm his nerves. He stood tensely, as if he expected it to leap back out at him and grab him by the throat.

"Hello."

The voice caused him to gasp and whirl around, eyes wide. His breathing hitched as his nerves practically burned themselves out. He instantly felt foolish when he found, standing not three feet from him, a small, elderly woman. Her hair was white and fine as fresh fallen snow, blowing in strands across her face as a gentle breeze moved them. The wrinkles in her face testified to her great age. She wasn't mach taller than him, making her seem far less threatening than Asterix had feared. Her clothes were old and worn; rags of earthy colors or red and brown. She was smiling, the wrinkles curving around her thin mouth as she studied him with large, prying eyes. They were odd, in that Asterix couldn't quite define their color. They were brown, he finally decided; but almost completely invaded by the black of her frighteningly large pupils. Her gaze annualized him, seeming to reach right into him as if by doing so she could read him perfectly. A tiny hint of that dreadful feeling returned; just an echo of it. Like the last wisps of smoke from a dying fire; faded and thin.

Asterix noticed quite suddenly that the woman was holding Dogmatix in her arms. The pup appeared to be distressed, looking at Asterix as if begging for help. He obviously felt very uncomfortable in the woman's careful grip. And yet, Dogmatix made no move to escape; he didn't wiggle or squirm, or even bark. He just hung there, limp in the woman's arms, gazing at him. It was rather unsettling; and Asterix's heart still refused to calm itself. Asterix found himself involuntarily putting a few extra steps between him and the woman.

The old woman chuckled; a sort of cackle that really wasn't all that pleasant. Her eyes were still fixed on him, reading his face and gauging his reaction. "I didn't mean to scare you, young man," she cooed. She reached out a withered hand, holding it out to touch his arm, and Asterix had to stop himself from jerking it away. "But I found this small dog out deep within these woods. I though perhaps that his presence meant there were folks about. You see, I am lost, with no food or shelter, and I-"

"Dogmatix!"

Asterix had been so focused on the strange woman that he hadn't noticed when Obelix had run back into the clearing. The big Gaul's eyes opened wide, a smile instantly lighting up his face as relief swept over him. He waddled up to the woman, towering over her. Asterix could see the surprise the woman felt at seeing a man of such tremendous size. But that wasn't unusual, and she recovered far faster than most. Grinning a toothy smile, she took Dogmatix and held him out toward Obelix.

"Does this little fellow belong to you," she asked, looking up into Obelix's face. Obelix nodded, his gaze fixed firmly on his pet as he took the dog from the woman's hands. Dogmatix finally moved, practically leaping into Obelix's arms, whining pitifully as if he were terrified. Obelix tried to sooth him.

"There, there, Dogmatix," he coaxed, stroking the black and white fur lovingly. "Nothing to be afraid of; no. This nice lady here brought you back to me safe and sound." He grinned at the elderly woman. "Thank you." He reached out a hand to shake the woman's outstretched one, when Dogmatix suddenly barked sharply and gave a growl. "Dogmatix!" Obelix cried in surprise, "No growling!" He turned back to the woman. "I'm sorry, I don't know what's gotten into him."

The elder laughed, lowering her hand swiftly to her side. "That is quite alright, my boy. I am a stranger; your dog is simply doing his best to ensure his master's safety. As he should." She fixed her large eyes on the pup, and Dogmatix gave a whine and backed down at once.

Asterix still felt very ill-at-ease. He couldn't begin to guess why. As far as he could tell, the three persons in the clearing were the only souls for miles in the dark, wooded forest. And this old lady certainly didn't pose any threat. She was odd, that was true; something about her didn't settle right. But she wasn't a danger. If anything, she was _in_ danger. A woman of her great years, wandering the forest at night; it just wasn't safe. She would need shelter, food, and a place to sleep. Asterix was sure that the villagers wouldn't mind.

"Ah, ma'am?" The woman's gaze returned to him and once more Asterix felt a jolt on unease shoot through him. Why? What was wrong? He suddenly realized that he didn't trust this woman. Nothing against her personally, but there was something about her that sent up several little red flags in Asterix's mind. He didn't want her in the village. He didn't want her near any of his friends. And he certainly didn't want her to be anywhere near him, Obelix, or Dogmatix. He wished they had never come across her. Why? Asterix didn't know.

"Yes?" She looked at him expectantly.

"Uh...Um, what's...what's your name, ma'am?" Luckily he had come up with a quick question to cover what he originally had planned to say. She blinked at him, as if disappointed.

"My name is Petunia," she smiled, giving a little curtsy.

"I'm Obelix," the biggest Gaul introduced, "And this is Dogmatix." He once again tried to encourage Dogmatix to respond nicely to the old woman, but with no luck. The pup seemed quite reluctant to do so.

"And I'm Asterix." Again the eyes bore into him; large and dark. He wished she would stop looking at him like that. It made him feel exposed; as if nothing in his soul could be hidden from her. Asterix wanted to talk with Obelix and tell him about these feelings. He knew Obelix probably wouldn't understand, but he was afraid that Obelix would-

"Would you like to come back to our village with us?" Obelix invited cheerfully.

_He didn't._

"We're going to have nice, juicy boars, and I'm sure there's plenty for one more person."

_He did._

Petunia smiled kindly. "Yes, indeed. I think that would be most wonderful, thank you!"

_Well, that was that._ There was no way Asterix could take back Obelix's invitation. The damage had been done. Funny thing was, Asterix had no idea what the damage _was_. Maybe he was worrying over nothing. It was just a little old lady, for Toutatis' sake! It wasn't like she were some dangerous foe. Asterix pushed his negative feelings to the back of his mind and pasted on as friendly a smile as he could manage. "Follow us, ma'am. We'll take you to our Chief." They then led Petunia out of the forest and up to the village gates, Obelix all the while telling her of the succulent boars they would be enjoying shortly.


	9. Deceptions

Asterix sat hunched over at the table in his hut, staring at the wooden surface intently. A plate, his breakfast, lay at his elbow, untouched. He was staring into space, trying to come fully awake. But his eyes felt heavy and swollen, a side affect from his restless night, and he was finding it hard to think clearly of anything other than his own bed. Oh, how wonderful it would be to just climb back beneath the woolen covers; letting all other responsibilities and problems drift away from his mind. But, Asterix knew that couldn't happen. He had far too much to do. Too many things to think about. Besides, he was pretty sure he wouldn't actually be able to drift off anyway.

Asterix had hardly slept at all the night before, and for the life of him he couldn't figure out why. Well, at least, he could't come up with a satisfactory answer. There were many things that were sufficient to keep the little Gaul awake during the dark hours of the night. With Getafix gone he was nervous; with no missions or adventures he was restless; and with all the feelings he had been getting lately, he was on edge. And then there was their guest. She certainly seemed harmless enough, and yet, whenever Asterix was near her, he felt very uneasy. Frightened almost. As if her outward appearance were but a mask; a veil of light that hid some dreadful darkness under the surface. Just as a feeling; it wasn't like he could truly see it or anything. At least, most of the time he hadn't been able to...with one exception.

He and Obelix had led Petunia into the village the night before, Obelix chunnering on and on as if he and the woman were old friends. Petunia seemed very at ease with the big Gaul, cheerfully engaging him in any subject he brought up, which, of course, in Obelix's case was boars. After they arrived, they had escorted her over to Chief Vitalstitistix's hut, where all the other Gauls quickly gathered out of curiosity. It wasn't often that they got visitors, and it was an event that nobody wanted to miss. Vitalstitistix and Impedimenta came out to great their new arrival, and the chief's wife took a shine to Petunia immediately. Impedimenta had introduced the elderly woman to all of the villagers; telling a little bit about who they where and what they did. Petunia had smiled and complimented each and every one of them, winning them all to her cause, and, before Asterix knew it, she was given permission to stay in the village as long as she liked. She was told she could stay in a small, abandoned hut in the North end of the village, where it was quiet and tranquil. Petunia had thanked them all, saying that she was very grateful.

A small feast was given in the woman's honor, much to Obelix's excitement, and they had all eaten under the dark, star-studded sky together. All the while, Asterix kept a close watch on their guest. She seemed to be thoroughly enjoying the food and wine, eating far more than Asterix would expect a woman of her size and age to eat. As the meal came to a close, Petunia had begun asking questions. They started out harmless enough, mostly inquiries about Impedimenta's dress and where the women did their shopping. But then, as the conversation continued, the questions became for less innocent.

"I hear you have a druid in your midst," Petunia had stated carelessly.

"Oh, yes," Impedimenta had answered willingly, "His name is Getafix. He's been with us for...My, my, over thirty-five years now."

"Oh? Is he here tonight?"

Vitalstitistix had shaken his head, a little tipsy from the good wine and food. "Oh, no. He - _Hic!_ \- He left a few days ago for the Forest of the Carnutes. Special meeting of sorts."

That seemed to catch Petunia's attention. She stopped eating altogether, devoting herself wholly to the conversation. "Oh," she had sighed sadly, "That's too bad. I really would have liked to have met a real, live druid. I hear they have amazing skill in spells and potions."

From across the table, an equally tipsy Fulliautomatix laughed heartily. " _Hic! -_ Not as skillful as ours!" He reached for the wine flask to refill his cup, but his wife snatched it away, giving him a glare. He shrugged and turned back to the discussion. "He's got loads of fantastic spells," the blacksmith slurred. "He's the best druid there's ever been!"

Asterix hadn't been sure, but he thought he had seen Petunia stiffen at those words. She seemed to grow tense, turning slightly flushed.

"Oh?" she had managed sweetly, though now it sounded forced. "What makes him so special?" Under the mask of kind curiosity, Asterix had suddenly felt a strange hint of animosity. He suddenly felt that they should not be discussing anything important to the safety of the village with this woman, guest or no. But Fulliautomatix obviously hadn't felt the same way.

"Oh, lots of stuff, really. But most of all he's got a very special Magic Po-"

"Fulliautomatix!"

Everyone at the table, startled, had abruptly turned to face Asterix at his shout. His voice had held no anger, but it had contained a certain degree of desperation that was quite detectable. The little Gaul had stood up, leaning on the table looking very wide eyed, as if something had frightened him terribly.

Asterix had had no clue what had driven him to do so; but he had suddenly felt that he needed to shut Fulliautomatix up immediately. "I...I don't think we should be talking about that with strangers," he had stammered. The other Gauls gave him an odd look, somewhere between annoyed and confused, but then shrugged and continued their grazing and talking. Petunia, however, had turned her eyes to him sharply. They dug into him, full of kindness but, for one fraction of a second, Asterix was sure he had seen barely contained malice. A hatred that shone so brightly it was only just barely contained.

That one, threatening glare, though it only lasted but a flickering moment, stayed with Asterix for the rest of the night. He hadn't been able to close his eyes without seeing that woman's face. Those big, dark eyes. He had probably dropped off eventually, getting a little sleep, but it couldn't have been for very long; not with how he was feeling now.

"Asterix? Are you having breakfast?"

It was Obelix's voice, calling from outside the hut. Even in his tired state, Asterix couldn't help but chuckle to himself. He pushed himself up from the bench and staggeringly made his way toward his front door, rolling his eyes at his friend's predictability.

"Yes, Obelix. Come on in." He gave the wooden portal a light shove, opening it with a creak. He stepped back as Obelix managed to squeeze through the small opening, little Dogmatix scurrying along behind him. The pup greeted Asterix with a friendly bark, licking his hand as the dog followed his master.

Obelix flashed a friendly smile at the shorter Gaul as he made his way further into the room, rubbing his stomach as it gave an insistant gurgle. "Have you eaten yet, Asterix?" He noticed the plate of untouched food sitting on the table, then returned his questioning gaze to his friend. He suddenly noticed that his companion wasn't looking anything like his normal self. _Oh no, not again._

"No," Asterix admitted. "No, I haven't."

"Will you be joining me?"

"I'm...not that hungry."

Obelix fixed him with a look that was obviously laced with disapproval and worry. Asterix knew he wasn't hiding his condition very well. If he looked even half as bad as he felt, he was sure he was giving his friend quite a good reason to be concerned. He knew Obelix would want an explanation. And that was something Asterix didn't think he could give. He didn't know why Petunia's arrival had filled him with such ill-ease. There was no way he could explain that to Obelix, especially when he didn't understand it himself. And so, pasting on the most encouragingly normal smile he could manage, Asterix quickly added, "But I'm sure I'll work up an appetite later on. Don't forget, you and I promised to help Unhygenix fix that hole in his roof." That effectively distracted Obelix from Asterix's appearance.

Obelix chuckled. It was no secret in the village how that hole had formed in the fishmonger's ceiling. Cacofonix, whose hut was in a tree above Unhygenix's home, had been moving some furniture around a few days back. He had brought a few larger objects out onto his deck, and, whether because he bumped it or the wind somehow shifted the structure a bit, a rather cumbersome table had toppled from the tree. It landed squarely on Unhygenix's roof, tearing through to land within the house, right by the fireplace; upright. Luckily, no one had been in the hut when it fell, but the damage had been extensive. It wouldn't take long to take care of, Obelix knew, but he wanted to eat first; to keep up his strength. And it bothered him that Asterix was not doing the same.

"Well, alright," the big Gaul finally agreed, trying not to be too alarmed by Asterix's lack of appetite. "But _I_ , for one, would like to eat first."

Asterix laughed, gesturing to the plate of fruits and berries. "Help yourself; I didn't touch it." He quickly changed the subject before his friend could argue. "Has anyone seen anything of our guest this morning?" He really didn't feel like asking, but knowing where Petunia was was significantly better than not knowing at all.

Obelix shrugged, settling himself on the bench at Asterix's table. It creaked loudly, causing Asterix to wince in anticipation of its destruction; but it held Obelix's weight, surprisingly, like it always did. "No one's seen her," Obelix confessed, "But, of course, it's still early yet. I'd imagine an old lady like that would need plenty of sleep."

"Obelix!"

"Well, it's true," Obelix grinned as he began working his way through the meal. He noticed Asterix's smile and knew he had succeeded in his goal. He hated seeing Asterix down in any way. Whatever was bothering the little Gaul must be serious, for him to look the way he did. So tired; with so little energy. It had happened before; many times. When ever Asterix was pondering something that bothered him, or when he was depressed. Obelix hated it. If a smile could cheer Asterix up, Obelix would be as bright and cheery as he possibly could, no matter what it required. He might not know a much about a lot of things, but he did know how to spread general good feelings, and a laugh was always the quickest way to do so.

Asterix chuckled. "That's beside the point. It isn't nice to make fun of our elders...Even if they _are_ old." He tried to hide his smile, but failed. Obelix always knew when he was feeling low. The big Gaul had gained quite a knack over the years for getting him back on his feet when he felt himself stumbling. He had come to rely on it. Sometimes, Obelix was the only one who could help him out of the dark pits of depression that he sometimes fell into. Well, almost the only one. Getafix was another, though in a slightly different way. The druid's wise words often got Asterix out of fixes that no one else could. Whenever he had questions, he could always turn to Getafix...Except now. But Asterix didn't want to think of that. His problems, with all these strange feelings and thoughts, could wait until Getafix got back. After all, what could happen between now and then?

Asterix gently plucked Dogmatix from the floor where the canine was begging for food and brought him over to the table, setting the pup down and giving him a small morsel from the plate. The dog gave an appreciative bark before starting to gnaw on it happily. Dogmatix seemed far calmer than he had the night before. Less tense and nervous. That had been odd, to be sure. Dogmatix was usually full of energy, running in circles with such ceaseless activity that it was a wonder that he didn't wear himself out half the time. But last night, the pup had been acting very strangely, and Asterix couldn't help wondering if the dog had somehow sensed what he had.

"Ready to go?"

The sound of Obelix's voice jolted Asterix from his thoughts. The big Gaul was easing himself from the table, scooping up Dogmatix as he did so.

Asterix blinked. "You're finished already?"

"Well, I was hungry."

"I guess so." Getting up from his own seat, Asterix grabbed his helmet and placed in on his head. It settled comfortably there, as if that was where the object belonged and always would. It felt odd when he didn't wear it. Of course, he couldn't very well sleep in the hard, metal thing. He took it off then, but only then. It was a source of familiarity; routine; normalcy. Something that Asterix appreciated greatly, especially when he was troubled.

He felt a little more awake now, having forced himself to focus on the job at hand. Giving his friend a smile and a wave of his hand, Asterix started on his way. "Alright, Obelix. Let's go find Unhygenix. I'm sure he's anxious to get that hole patched up before we get any rain." He marched out the door, with Obelix right behind him.

* * *

Cacofonix stood precariously close to the edge of his deck, overlooking the village. He wasn't the least bit afraid of falling, despite the fact that there were no guards or railings to keep him from doing so. It was rather a gift on his part. He had no fear heights, unlike many of his companions, who rarely visited his abode for fear of tumbling off the structure to the ground far below. He could stand right to the brink and not feel woozy or dizzy. It was a wonder he had never fallen, as bold as he was; but, to date, that had never happened. To everyone's relief.

The bard was watching the villagers below, who were gathering to repair the gaping hole in Unhygenix roof. He knew he should head down to help too, since it had largely been his fault. But he was a little nervous about showing himself around the fishmonger. Unhygenix had not been pleased with him. Not at _all_ pleased. If he offered his services, who knew what kind of reaction he would receive. But he'd have to risk it. It wouldn't be right to hang back and let the others work. Even if Unhygenix got mad and turned him away, at least he would have tried.

Straightening up and preparing to descend the long, winding stairs that hugged the tree's trunk, Cacofonix suddenly spotted something in the distance. He shielded his eyes against the glare of the bright morning sun, making out a tall, thin figure clad all in white making its way toward the village. At first the bard couldn't imagine who it could be, but then, as the person grew more and more into focus, his eyes widened in recognition. Leaning over the deck the bard cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted at the top of his lungs.

"It's Getafix! Getafix is back; he's coming to the gates!"

Asterix and the other Gauls looked up sharply at Cacofonix's raised voice. Asterix felt his stomach lurch as it always did when he saw the bard moving about so freely by his treehouse's edge. But he was quickly distracted as the words finally sank in. Getafix? Back so soon? He wasn't due back for another day yet. Not that Asterix was complaining. The druid had been greatly missed, and not only by him. Many of the other villagers had mentioned their wish to see Getafix back among them as soon as possible.

Dropping whatever they had been working with at the moment, the villagers headed for the gate, anxious to see their friend. A moment later a very tired, worn, but driven Getafix walked swiftly into their midst. The druid slowed immediately, taking in all their smiling faces at a glance. He seemed to relax, as if he had expected to be greeted in a far different, unpleasant manner. He let the Gauls shake his hand and pound his back, but all the while seemed to be searching the crowd for something. His eyes finally came to rest on Asterix and, despite his obvious distress, smiled at the sight of the blond Gaul. Asterix always caused him to feel warm in his heart. In this little Gaulish village that ceaselessly seemed to be thrown into chaos, one thing always stood firm and unchanging. Asterix was a pillar in Getafix's strength, though _how_ the druid didn't know. The little Gaul wasn't tall, or strong. But he was brave. Full of immeasurable courage. It was like a light that glowed within Asterix; touching all those around him and making him one of the most remarkable men that Getafix had ever known. He was one of the few people that the druid counted as a truly close friend. Not that he wasn't close to the others; far from it. He cared about them all very much. But Asterix was different. He was a little closer. Almost like a son.

Making his way through the teaming swarm of Gauls around him, Getafix finally reached Asterix. The short man greeted him enthusiastically, reaching out a hand to grasp the druid's own. "Welcome back, Getafix! We weren't expecting you back until tomorrow night!"

"Yes," the druid replied worriedly, suddenly reminded of why he had returned so abruptly. "I realized all at once that I may be needed here. Asterix," he took the Gaul by the arm, leading him away from the noise of the other chattering villagers. "Asterix, has there been any...strange men about while I was away?"

Asterix frowned at the odd question, shaking his head slowly. "No..." He thought back to his patrols within the forest for the past few days. "Not that I recall. I've been checking the woods twice each day, and I haven't seen any men, Roman or otherwise."

Getafix seemed to relax at that, until Asterix's next words hit him like a menhir.

"But we do have a rather odd woman staying with us."

The druid instantly felt the hairs raise on the back of his neck. "A woman?!" he asked, maybe a tad bit too sharply. "When? What does she look like?!" He lay his hands on Asterix's shoulders, searching his friend's eyes as if the truth was there to be found.

Asterix's own anxiety was increasing. He could feel the tension coming off of Getafix in waves; like a bright flash of fear, one after the other in a repeating cascade. His own fears and worries were beginning to rise again within him, filling him with dread. "We found her last night; in the forest." He winced slightly as Getafix's grip on his shoulders tightened. "She was lost and needed a place to stay. She is well along in years; maybe -"

"Where is she now?" Getafix interrupted quickly. He had gone quite pale, and Asterix realized that whatever was wrong, was serious. The druid needed answers, but, unfortunately, Asterix wasn't sure he had the right ones to be of any help.

"No one's seen her yet. We assume she's still sleeping. She stayed in that empty hut, out near your place." Getafix let go of him, already running in that direction. Asterix couldn't conceal his alarm any longer. "Getafix, what's wrong?!"

"Much, I fear!" was all he got before the druid disappeared around the corner.

Asterix immediately started after him, yelling to Obelix over his shoulder. "Gather the others! something's not right!" He didn't wait for his large friend to reply, instead putting all his energy into moving as quickly as he could. Every fiber in his body was now screaming at him that there was something wrong; terribly wrong. Even worse, that something even more terrible was about to take place. He always knew when that feeling came. What made him frustrated with himself was that he still hadn't learned to listen to that strange instinct. He had felt it many times before, and still he had chosen to ignore it. He just hoped his mistake wouldn't cost them too dearly.

He pushed himself on a little faster, once in a while catching sight of the druid's white robe as Getafix turned the corners ahead of him. Asterix was unable to keep up, and soon he lost sight of the druid completely. Hopefully, if something bad was going to happen, it wouldn't happen until he was there to back Getafix up. No one should have to face trouble alone.

* * *

Getafix saw his hut come into view as he skidded around the corner. It was a welcome sight, despite the circumstances. The druid was really quite a homebody; preferring to work among his books and potions than to go traveling to Toutatis-knew-where. He had missed his cottage, even though he hadn't been gone long at all. But the warm feeling the sight gave him was quickly smothered with a dark, choking fear. A fear he desperately hoped was all in his imagination. _Please may it just be a bad case of unwarranted paranoia!_

But with each step the feeling of foreboding only increased, until there was no doubt in Getafix's mind of what he would find upon entering his home. Putting on an extra burst of speed, the druid thrust himself against the door of his hut, nearly tearing it from its hinges as he flung it open.

"Mastix!"

The words were out of his mouth before he even saw the threat in physical form. He didn't need to see. The eyes were weak things really; so easy to trick. It is a simple matter to make them perceive that which is not there or is not real. That was one lesson that Getafix remembered; the last lesson Prolix had ever given him. But a strong, sound mind is not so easily misled; not when it is on the shoulders of the truly wise. Not when one feels what is right and true. And, for Getafix, that feeling was nearly overwhelming.

The interior of his hut was very dark compared to the dancing world of sun outside. His eyes struggled to adjust as his mind frantically encouraged them to work faster. The only light that was finding its way into the room was a patch of gray coming in through the window. It flowed in small, straight beams, casting a pale rectangle on the dusty, dirt floor. Getafix had never remembered his abode ever being as dark and desolate as it did now.

But from within the darkness, Getafix saw movement. When he had burst in through the door he had heard a soft gasp and a small shatter of glass; then a terrible silence. It lasted for several seconds, while Getafix peered into the inky black, willing his eyes to see what he knew was there. Then, from somewhere in front of him, Getafix heard a soft chuckle. But it wasn't the chuckle of a kindly old woman. This was the sound that, despite over thirty-five years, was still ingrained and burned into Getafix's memory.

"Well, well; if it isn't Getafix, my old colleague," a deep voice cackled nastily, "I was wondering when you were going to show up."

Getafix suppressed a shiver that suddenly tried to run up and down his spine. He all at once wished he was anywhere in all the world but here; alone in a dark room with perhaps the most twisted man he had ever known. He wished he could just turn around and leave; go somewhere far away where he wouldn't have to face this element from his nightmares. It all had such a surreal atmosphere to it, as though it were all just a terrible dream he would soon wake up from.

Getafix summoned his courage and stood his ground. "What is it you want, Mastix?" It wasn't that the druid doubted his past-mentor's word that Mastix was after the potion; not even close. It was more that he was trying to stall, so that he had more time to let his mind and eyes adjust to both the darkness and the dangerous situation.

"Oh, come now, Getafix, don't be such a suspicious man," came the reply, a little closer this time. "I have simply come to...pay you a visit."

Getafix took an involuntary step back, determined to keep as much space between them as possible. "Well," he growled, "You've visited. Get out." The druid gained a little more courage. "You have no power here."

It was well known by Getafix, as well as all the other druids, that one is far less powerful in their magic when they were far from their books and powders. Away from their designated place or home, a druid's power was greatly reduced. Mastix was in his hut, that was true, but Mastix would not gain strength from that which did not belong to him. Mastix was separated from his necromancy; Getafix was not. Whatever frail power his enemy possessed here in the village would not be able to stand against Getafix's own, which was founded in and by the village.

But Mastix's answer was a belittling snicker. "Oh, but Getifix, my dear, old friend; I haven't gotten what I've come for."

"So you have come for something then?" The druid decided to play it dumb. It was time to bring this to a head. Mastix could do nothing here; not at the moment, Getafix was sure. It was time to confront the real reason for the man's visitation.

"Don't patronize me!" Mastix snapped, his voice changing in an instant. A pale green light began to fill the room, though Getafix didn't noticed it. His attention was fully focused on Mastix's direction. Even when the light enabled him to see his adversary, Getafix didn't pay it much attention. It was a sickening green color; one that gave the room a dangerous, unbalanced feel. Mastix gained back a little of his self control. "I have come to _discuss_ a bit of magic with you," he finished, pasting on a eerie smile that Getafix could just make out in the faint light. The man was wearing rags, draped around his body in a haphazard way, as if they didn't quite fit right.

Getafix frowned. "You have no business dabbling in the manners of Druids; you were banished from such practices long ago." Getafix was surprised at his own boldness. His words were certain to strike a nerve in his foe, and that could lead to more of a confrontation than Getafix was ready to come up against. But it was too late; he couldn't back out now. It was true; Mastix _did_ have no right to be using any spells, potions, powders, or anything of any power whatsoever. But, of course, Getafix knew that wouldn't stop someone like Mastix, who already knew quite a bit of druidic practice, and had always been very good at it.

Mastix narrowed his eyes to small, dark slits, but he didn't respond in anger as Getafix had expected. Instead, Mastix gazed around Getafix's hut, taking in the herbs hanging from the ceiling, the different bottled potions that lined the shelves, and the small pouches of magic powder that lay on the table. Most of them looked disturbed, as though someone had been hurriedly sifting through them; searching for something. "You act as though you are more powerful than I," he stated frankly, giving a slight pout. "And maybe you are...but only by a little." His face lit up in a grin that frightened Getafix more than anything he had seen so far. "But that is easily remedied."

Getafix was pretty sure that last part was a threat; though its meaning was unimportant at the moment as far as he was concerned. The druid decided to get right to the point. "You want the Magic Potion, don't you?"

Mastix smiled mockingly, crossing his arms and leaning back against the woodwork. "I do believe you've finally got some sense in that head of yours. Took about thirty-five years, but it's a start."

"Well, you're wasting your time here. There is no Magic Potion at the moment, since I have not been around to make any; and I do not plan on making any while you are around."

A shadow of anger crossed Mastix's face and the green glow intensified, finally drawing Getafix's attention. "I tried to make this simple, but I see that is of no use. You will not give me the secret of the potion?"

"No."

"Very well." Mastix raised an arm out toward Getafix, fixing the druid with an evil glare. He rolled his wrist until his hand was facing palm forward, in a stop-like gesture. "Then I shall take it." With that, he closed his open hand into a tight fist, the green light growing to full brightness with a sudden flash.

"Mastix! What are y- Ah!" Getafix cried out as he felt his body freeze painfully. Not a cold kind of freeze; no, there was nothing chilly about this. In fact, it burned! It burned with a fire that made him want to throw himself to the floor to extinguish the flames that seemed to course through him, but that wouldn't do any good; there were no flames. It was an ache; a sting. It was as if his body were being crushed from every direction, pressed by an invisible weight until he was completely immobile. He couldn't even fall to the floor; the spell had him locked on his feet, unable to move, and it was getting increasingly difficult to breath.

Mastix chuckled, coming closer but keeping his hand clenched in front of him. He delighted in the pain he was causing; the agony he read on his adversary's face. "Not so certain of your power now, are you, Getafix. You see, as time has passed, I have only grown stronger. You are no longer any match for me. I can kill you with but a small move of my hand." He tightened his fist and Getafix cried out again as the pain increased. "And there is nothing anyone can do about it."

Getafix closed his eyes, focusing all his strength on filling his lungs with air. He could feel his energy waning; weakening with each passing moment. He tried to fight it, but it was just too strong. The crushing force was beyond any magic he had ever felt...and he was utterly powerless against it.

Mastix smiled, fixing his eyes on him. "Now, let's try it again, Getafix." His voice hardened threateningly. "Will you give me the secret of the Magic Potion, or not?"


	10. Assault

Asterix didn't know where Getafix had gone; not in the slightest. Because of the smaller Gaul's much shorter legs, he had been unable to keep up with the druid's mad rush through the village streets, winding through each path at an incredible rate. Getafix had not mentioned where he was going; but, by their conversation, Asterix guessed the druid was headed for the hut the villagers had assigned to Petunia. It made sense, since it had been the subject of the old woman that had seemed to upset the druid. And so, as fast as he could manage, Asterix made his way for the Northern side of the village.

When he got there he found the place utterly still; calm and tranquil as any other normal day. This hut was far from the noise of the village's center; its nearest neighbor being the quiet cottage that belonged to Getafix. It had been built by a family of Gauls who had long since left to live in Condatum. It had been abandoned for many years; Asterix couldn't even remember it ever having been lived in. Not during his life. But the cottage had been well cared for, being in just as good a shape as any other hut in the village. It was often assigned to guests and visitors, or when family came to call. Especially unwanted family members, such as Impedimenta's brother, Homeopathix. Vitalstitistix was always glad to have that particular hut at their disposal whenever his dreaded brother-in-law paid a visit.

But, as of the moment, there were no signs of any life whatsoever.

Asterix lightly tapped against the portal's frame, gazing about over the half door at what he could see of the inside. The cottage was bright and cheerful, sunlight streaming in through the wooden latticed windows. It was as clean as a whistle; floors swept and walls recently dusted. Obviously the doings of Impedimenta and her group of women followers. Asterix was certain the Chief's wife would have made sure it was spotless for their guest. But that very guest now seemed to be missing. In fact, there was no sign that she had stayed in the little hut at all.

"Hello?...Petunia?...Getafix?!" The blond Gaul's panic began to rise as he realized that this was not where the druid had run to. But where else would Getafix go? Asterix couldn't understand. They had been talking about the old woman; should not that mean that Getafix's concern would be to find her? And if he hadn't gone here, than where else would he expect the woman to be? The little Gaul turned away from the door in frustration. He faced the path again just as the other Gauls caught up with him. They were armed and ready, but obviously confused that any danger would lay within their own walls. The woman were no where in sight, most likely having been convinced by the men that they should stay with the children. It was an opinion that, at the moment, Asterix agreed with. If there was some sort of trouble inside the village, they all wanted the women and children safe.

Chief Vitalstitistix moved to the front, balanced atop his usual perch, a large, round, blue and silver shield. His hand straying near his sword as he looked about them, the black and white feather tufts on his helmet quivering with the movement. "Where's Getafix?" he asked, looking down at the village warrior. He was slightly annoyed that they had been called to arms so early in the morning, especially since there seemed to be nothing out of place. He had been in the middle of a very relaxing breakfast, and was quite irritated that he had been disturbed.

"I don't know," Asterix muttered distractedly. He too was glancing about, trying to calm his heart, which had started to pound in his chest. He couldn't explain it, but he knew he was needed; and not there. From his vantage point he could see quite a few of the other cottages that dotted the circular walled village. He let his eyes wonder over each one as he spoke. "I thought for sure he came this way; but he's not here."

"Are you certain he's not inside," Fulliautomatix called from the crowd of armed men, pointing to the cottage behind Asterix with his mallet. "Maybe he's-"

"He's not here," Asterix repeated, frustration evident in his voice. But then he gave the blacksmith an apologetic look. "I checked."

Obelix came forward to stand beside his short friend. He could tell that Asterix was distraught; seeing it in the way the smaller Gaul held himself. Stiff and tense. As if all the burdens of the world were weighing down on his shoulders. Obelix lay a comforting hand on Asterix's back before allowing his own eyes to search the village's interior. Being the tallest of all the Gauls, by quite a bit, Obelix had a far better vantage point than any of them. He could see much further than the other men; almost to the level of being extraordinary. The Gauls often wondered if the Magic Potion had enhanced Obelix's eyesight along with everything else. It was more than likely.

Obelix shielded his eyes against the glare of the sun. By doing so, his view was greatly increased. He roved his large orbs back and forth across each hut, just as he had seen Asterix had do. Suddenly, the big Gaul leaned forward, squinting with interest at something further to the right than any of the others had looked. Eyes widening, Obelix pointed with one large, chubby finger toward that particular direction.

"There's a funny green light coming from Getafix's hut," he commented. He didn't seem disturbed by this observation; mentioning it only because it was a little out of the ordinary.

The other Gauls turned with surprise, finding that Obelix was right. An eerie glow was resonating from within the cottage, pulsating like the beating of a heart. In the summer sunshine it was so faint that, if the interior of the hut hadn't been otherwise pitch black, it would have been unperceivable. But, now that it had been indicated to them, the Gauls could clearly distinguish it.

"What is that?," Cacofonix asked, standing on tiptoe so as to see over the other Gauls' heads. He wasn't short for a Gaul, but he certainly wasn't the tallest. He wasn't as quick as some of the others either, which often left him as one of those straggling behind. He often ended up in the back or middle of the group, making it difficult for him to see all that was happening.

Unhygenix sent the musician a meaningful glare. The fishmonger was still angry with the bard for the damage done to his hut. Even though he knew the whole incident had been nothing more than an accident, it had still greatly frightened Unhygenix. What if that table had fallen on someone? What if it had landed on his family? What if it had been _Cacofonix_ who had fallen rather than the table? Unhygenix would never admit just how much he feared any of those events taking place. And his way of concealing his fear was being mad. It was an emotion he was fairly proficient in displaying. "Don't you think if we knew what is was we wouldn't be standing here looking at it?!" he snapped.

Cacofonix drew back a little. He had forgotten how upset with him Unhygenix still was; what with all the excitement and all. He had hoped that the fishmonger would have let it go by now, but that obviously wasn't the case. Unhygenix wasn't one to let things just roll off his back. If you made him angry, he was angry for a while. A _long_ while. Fulliautomatix could be that way too. Maybe that was why they fought so much. Unfortunately, Cacofonix sometimes fell victim to that animosity, usually quite by accident. The bard nodded his head and lowered his eyes, figuring it would be better if he faded into the crowd and kept quiet.

"Maybe Getafix is working on something," Fulliautomatix asserted, straining his eyes to try and get a better look. "Like a new potion?" It wasn't unusual for their druid to experiment in his skills. The Gauls sometimes forgot that, though to them Getafix was very powerful, as far as druids went he was still learning. And though Getafix had been nominated Druid of the Year some time ago, he was still exploring his capability.

Geriatrix shook his head slowly. "I've known Getafix for a very long time, and I've never seen anything of his glow like that. Not that shade of green." It was true. Though the Magic Potion itself was of a distinct green tint, it was a far less threatening color than that coming from the druid's hut now.

The blacksmith sent the old timer a doubtful look. "How can you even see that far, you old relic?!"

Geriatric's mustache bristled. "Old timer?! Relic?! You bet I am! Why, I remember when you were nothing but a little, lisping-"

"Alright, alright! Cut it out!" their Chief hollered. This was no time for arguing. And knowing his men, an argument would grow very quickly into a full blown fight if not controlled carefully. "You can worry about all that later. We've got more important things to discuss than that."

"So what are we going to do?" one Gaul asked tentatively from under the Chieftain's shield.

Vitalstitistix rubbed his chin indecisively. He wasn't quite sure how to proceed in this situation. Was there a threat or wasn't there? Everything felt so up in the air; he wasn't sure whether they should just send someone to check in on Getafix and then go about their business, or whether they should charge in, assuming something was wrong. What he needed was advice. Normally, he would have turned to their druid. But that, of course, wasn't an option. "Perhaps we should go and investigate," he surmised, "In case something's not quite as it should be. What do you think, Asterix?" He turned to the village warrior, but all he found was empty space where the smaller Gaul had been standing only several moment before. "Asterix?"

The Gauls searched about them, trying to pinpoint where Asterix could have gone. Suddenly, Fulliautomatix gave a shout, pointing in the direction of Getafix's hut. "There he is! How did we miss him?!" The little Gaul must have taken off while they had been talking. It wasn't too long a distance between the two cottages, but they were not directly next to one another either. In order to be as far along as Asterix had managed to get, he must have started running the minute Obelix had pointed out the peculiar glow. He had a good six or seven minute start and had almost reached the druid's hut.

"Come on!," the Chief bellowed, urging his shield bearers to move forward down the hill. The rest of the Gauls followed suit, quickening their pace as their minds tried to wrap around everything that had happened that morning so far. It was confusing; contrasting with the calm that had existed before so abruptly that their heads spun. They could tell something was wrong, though what they had couldn't guess.

But it was time to find out.

* * *

Asterix ran as fast as he could; feet pounding against the soft grass-covered earth as he rushed headlong toward the druid's hut. That feeling of dread was now so strong he felt as though all his senses were screaming for him to hurry; to get to that cottage as fast as humanly possible. He could have used his gourd of Magic Potion, but for some reason, he didn't even think of it. It lay attached to his side, forgotten; the soft sound of its liquid sloshing within its container as he ran. He was aware that he had left the others behind, but he couldn't wait for them. Not with all their indecision and bickering. It would just take too long. He knew they would follow eventually. As for him, when his eyes had fallen upon that sickening, pulsating light; he had known at once that there was no time to waste. His mind switched from villager to protector in a moment; it was his job to make sure that everyone in the village was kept safe. And that included Getafix.

The little Gaul neared the hut, hearing the battle cry as the rest of the villagers behind him finally pursued, just as Asterix reached the door. Without bothering to knock or announce himself in any way, the little warrior threw himself against the wooden portal, pushing through to find a most horrific scene.

The interior of the hut was bathed in a pale, green light. It shone all around, filling the air with a gut-wrenching electricity that made you feel sick at once. As if it were draining all good from the room, trapping in tight the gruesome glow. A humming sound crackled endlessly, shattering the normal quiet of the cottage; buzzing like the strike of ceaseless lightening. But that wasn't the worst of it. As soon as Asterix entered, he spotted Getafix. The druid was standing stiffly, his face screwed up in agony. The sight nearly stopped Asterix's heart all together. Getafix was as still as a statue; frozen in place. The only movement was the heaving of the druid's chest as he seemed to be struggling to take in a sufficient breath. It was the most frightening thing Asterix had ever witnessed in his life.

Not far from Getafix stood yet another man, taller and more strongly built then their druid. He had a long, white beard, just like Getafix, only, perhaps, just a tad bit longer. His clothes were rags; old and worn. They were earthy colors of red and brown; tapping a memory in the back of the little Gaul's mind. They looked familiar; recently familiar. But at the moment, that didn't matter. Asterix noticed with shock that the odd, swirling glow was coming from the stranger, as if he himself were generating it. The man's hand was held in front of him, clenched into a tight fist; eyes fixed on Getafix.

All this takes quite a bit of time to explain, but it all happened very quickly. Asterix was a very clever fellow, and it only took him a moment to realize what was taking place. He might not understand much of how it worked, but Asterix knew magic when he saw it. And this wasn't the light, pleasant, helpful magic that Getafix so often excelled in. This was a dark, threatening, deadly magic. Asterix hurriedly put two and two together, realizing the correlation between the stranger's closed fist and the pain that Getafix was enduring. The little Gaul knew he had to do something.

Luckily, the man's face was not turned directly toward the door and the short Gaul had entered without the stranger knowing. Asterix looked about him frantically, trying to find something he could use to aid his friend. He had to break the spell; it was the only way to free Getafix. The quickest means to do so would be to divert the stranger's attention away from the druid; grab his focus. Asterix was certain of how he could do so, but he needed something first. If there was one thing Getafix had ever taught Asterix about magic, it was that you must never touch someone who is casting a spell with your bare hands. Why? Asterix couldn't recall. But he was sure it was important. Looking about Asterix discovered one of Getafix's many wooden staffs leaning against the wall to his left. Grabbing a rod, the smaller Gaul began tentatively making his way toward the stranger, holding the staff so tightly it made his knuckles white.

Getafix's eyes were scrunched shut it intense pain. Each choking breath was a struggle, just to get it down his throat and into his lungs. He couldn't feel his legs anymore; the burning sensation in his body having turned to a numbness that made him want to drop like a stone. But he couldn't. The spell kept him standing, continuing to crush with an incredible force. The druid was seriously beginning to wonder how much longer his body would be able to take this torture.

"Oh, come, come, Getafix," Mastix hummed, his voice seeming louder; fuller than it had before. He was thoroughly enjoying every moment of his foe's distress, playing with his victim to prolong the suffering. "All you have to do is tell me about one, teeny, tiny potion. That's all. It would save me a lot of time and you a lot of needless pain." He loosened his fist then closed it again rapidly, giving Getafix a chance to take one good breath before the pressure returned full force. "So, why don't you tell me."

"N-no," was all the imprisoned druid could manage. He gasped as the grip around him became impossibly tighter.

Mastix clicked his tongue in disapproval, shaking his head. "That is not very wise, my old friend," he warned. "But no matter. You will weaken eventually. My spell will see to that. I had been hoping for a little more of a challenge, really. I admit I am a tad bit disappointed. Your time among these villagers has made you soft and weak." He threw back his head, giving a dark cackle; but his glee was cut short by an angry voice just behind him.

"That's funny; I always thought that was what gave him the most strength!"

Before Mastix could recover from his surprise, something hard was swung into his body's right side. It wasn't a terribly violent blow; lacking the force it could have held, but it was a harsh hit nonetheless. Mastix stumbled back with a loud shout of pain, fist unclenching as he clutched his stinging ribs. The attack was just what was required to sufficiently break Mastix's concentration; and his spell. With a desperate gasp, Getafix was finally released from his adversary's hold, sinking to his knees on the floor; exhausted. With immense relief, the druid gulped in great lungfuls of air; the fresh breaths easing the burning in his chest. But his relief was short lived, when he realized who was now defending him from Mastix's tremendous wrath.

Mastix regained his breath with difficulty, rubbing his throbbing side with a dark, angry growl. The green glow had nearly gone out when he had been struck, but now Mastix re-illuminated the room to full strength. His hate-filled eyes flitted back and forth before they landed on the short, blond Gaul who was now standing between him and Getafix. Mastix recognized him as the little warrior; the Gaul who he had first met in the forest. The only Gaul he had not been able to gain the trust of, even in his disguise as Petunia. The little fellow had been a nuisance from the very start. Now, he was a threat to his goal.

Asterix stood firmly between his fallen friend and the stranger. Gripped in both hands was the staff that he had hit the intruder with, though Asterix had made sure not to smash it too hard into the man's ribs. Even in this desperate situation, the little Gaul couldn't bring himself to do any serious harm. But, if need be, he'd rather put himself in the attacker's path than let his friends suffer.

"That...That was a very foolish thing to do...my little fellow," Mastix panted threateningly. He stepped forward menacingly, fixing the newcomer with a hateful glare. It bore into Asterix; reaching, as if the man could kill him with nothing but a glance. But Asterix was too upset to be bothered by that.

"Foolish or no, I did what I had to," Asterix countered. He quickly glanced down at Getafix, who was just beginning to try and rise up from the shadowed floor. The druid seemed to be finding it difficult to move, and therefore couldn't ascend any higher than a wobbly half kneel. Asterix looked back toward the stranger, looking him right in the eyes. It was then that Asterix noticed something odd about the man. His eyes; they looked so familiar... A barely distinguishable brown color, but almost completely invaded by dark, black pupils. Asterix gasped. "You're the old woman!" That discovery was soon followed by an intense feeling of guilt. A threatening foe had managed to slip into the village, under his very nose. He had failed to discover the danger in time, and now Getafix had been hurt Toutatis knew how badly.

"A-Asterix..."

The small Gaul moved back a little and crouched beside the druid, all the while keeping his eyes locked with the stranger still recovering in the corner. "Getafix, are you alright?"

"I...I think so," the druid replied shakily. He tried to rise again, but once more found he couldn't. "B-but I can't seem to feel my legs." He had finally caught his breath, and the fiery pain had left him, leaving only a dull ache were the burning sensation had been. But his lower limbs felt numb; like they weren't even there and he couldn't move them. It was maddening. Getafix couldn't even stand to help Asterix confront Mastix; something he desperately wanted to do. He couldn't help his friend. By Toutatis; at the moment, he couldn't even help himself!

The druid's words frightened Asterix terribly; but also filled the little Gaul with great anger. He stood up fiercely, stomping closer to the enemy with a look of fury on his face. "What did you do to him?," he demanded, brandishing the staff toward Mastix's already bruised middle. But the stranger looked down at the sturdy stick, then turned his gaze away with a smirk, as though he wasn't the least bit concerned.

"This is one of the Gauls for whom you make the Magic Potion, Getafix?" Mastix scoffed, "Seems a bit of a waste, don't you think? Too bad you don't have the sense to make it for one who can use its power for more constructive purposes."

Getafix managed to shift his legs toward himself slightly; just barely enough to perceiveably count. It was hard, and a little painful, but it was more mobility than he had had a few moments ago. _Thank Toutatis! The_ _paralyzation_ _was not permanent!_ "I will never give you the Magic Potion, Mastix. Not now, and certainly not any time in the future. You can do what you want with me, but you'll never get it."

Mastix gave an exaggerated sigh. "Getafix, Getafix, Getafix; what am I going to do with you. You refuse to give me what I want, and even when I _insist_ , you still won't comply." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, his next words were more to himself than the other two men in the room. "Well, I could always threaten to kill the old fool...Oh, but that would never do. He knows I won't kill him because I want the potion. No Getafix; no potion. But..." His eyes lit up with inspiration. "Aha...New plan!" Before either Asterix or Getafix could react, Mastix stretched his arm out once more, clenching his hand into a tight fist. The green light increased tremendously without any warning, but this time the spell wasn't directed at Getafix. It was directed at Asterix.

The little Gaul gave a gasp of pain, dropping the staff to the floor. He tried to fight the numbing agony that abruptly washed over him, but there was nothing he could do. A crashing weight surrounded him on all sides, spreading a burning fire all through him and restricting his ability to breath. His eyes snapped shut as he did his best to keep from yelling out.

Getafix's eyes widened in fear. He finally managed to scramble to his feet, using the nearby table and his arms to rise shakily. His legs still wouldn't function completely, leaving him to cling to the counter in desperation. "Mastix! Stop! Stop it!"

"Oh, my friend," Mastix explained with mock sympathy, "I'm afraid I can't do that. You see, there's a matter of getting what I want. And since you care nothing for your own safety, you force me to use more... _persuasive_ _measures_." He tightened his fist, delighting in Getafix's distress at Asterix's choked cry.

Getafix turned his gaze back and forth between his friend, held pressed painfully in the grips of a dangerous spell, and his enemy, smiling triumphantly. "Mastix...Please-"

"Asterix! Getafix! Are you in there?!"

The rest of the Gauls suddenly burst through the door, led by their Chief, who was now dismounted from his shield. The menfolk took in the scene at a glance; Getafix leaning weakly against the table, Asterix standing stiffly to the side surrounded by a pale green light, and the tall stranger gazing at them from the corner. They didn't understand exactly what was happening, but they were aware that something wasn't right. Fulliautomatix rushed forward to help support their druid, sending the strange man a suspicious look.

"Hey, who are y-?" the blacksmith began, but was cut off as he staggered under the unexpected weight of Getafix. The Gauls looked on in shock, realizing that the druid was too weak to stand. Fulliautomatix looked back to the mysterious man. "What...what have you done to him?"

Mastix was still smiling calmly, despite the fact that he was now greatly outnumbered. "He and I have been having a little... _discussion_."

The Gauls turned their eyes to the only person in the room who had not yet spoken. The one person they would have expected to be talking in a situation like this. But Asterix was very still; frozen in place. His eyes were closed tightly, but the unmistakable look of pain was hard for any of the men to miss. Obelix felt his temper rise, as well as his fear; stomping forward purposefully.

"Ah, ah, ah," Mastix chided, "I wouldn't come any closer if I were you."

Obelix paused, uncertain. "Why not?"

"Because, I can kill your little friend at any time."

Asterix gasped loudly, as another wave of pain shuttled through him. He struggled to pull away from the invisible force, but to no avail. It was far to strong to be broken. The more he tried to fight it, the harder the force pressed. Obelix and the other Gauls turned very pale, taking note of the odd green light that seemed to be most concentrated around the stranger and their friend.

"Y-you're...you're a druid!" Cacofonix squeaked, voicing what the others were thinking as well.

"Mmh, of sorts," Mastix smiled, but then his face hardened in evil intent. "But I have wasted enough time in this place. Getafix, if you do not give me the secret of your Magic Potion," he smiled at Asterix, "you're little companion will die a terribly painful death."

The druid was far paler than any of the others. His legs were beginning to gain some of their old strength, allowing Getafix to shift some of his weight from the blacksmith's arm to his own two feet. But he stayed were he was, his eyes trained on Asterix. The druid knew what the little Gaul must be enduring; the burning; the dreadful, numbing pain; and the terrible, crushing pressure. He had barely been able to stand it himself; but to see Asterix in such agony was far worse.

"Mastix..."

"Make your decision, Getafix; or this village will be down one little ' _warrior_ '."

Getafix exchanged frightened glances with the other villagers. They were all looking to him, worry etched into their expressions. Worry and confusion; a confusion that only made their worry more intense. Getafix's eyes shifted, meeting the small-eyed gaze of Obelix. The big Gaul's expression pierced the druid's very soul; a beam of terror and rage and barely concealed panic. Every negative emotion possible was in those eyes, looking to Getafix; begging for some confirmation that everything was going to be alright. But the druid couldn't give it. He didn't know whether things would turn out for better or worse. Mastix had the upper hand no matter what they did. If Getafix gave Mastix the potion, Toutatis knew what the twisted man would do with it. But, if Getafix refused, Asterix would die. Right then and there. In front of everyone. In front of Obelix...No; that couldn't happen.

Getafix lowered his eyes to the floor. Asterix's life was to precious a thing to trade for even the greatest of spells or potions. Any life was. Getafix nodded slowly, "I'll-"

"N-no! Geta-fix, d-don't! Aah!" Asterix managed to yell before his words broke into a agonized scream. It shattered the silence loudly, causing everyone present to flinch in horror. The little Gaul was nearly unconscious now, barely gaining any air at all; his breath cut off to the point were his head was beginning to spin. His thinking was becoming unfocused; hazy. But one thought echoed over and over in his fading mind. Getafix would do it. Getafix would give this monster the Magic Potion, and the village's safety would forever after be at risk. All to save one life; his life. But he wasn't that important; not when his life was weighed with the large number of Gauls that would suffer if he lived. And so, as the last spark of his consciousness began to leave him, Asterix decided he was willing to die to save his friends.

Mastix could feel the energy draining from his prisoner. The little Gaul was passing out; succumbing to the pure strain of his powerful spell. Mastix grinned, reveling in Asterix's pain. He turned to remark to the bystanders of the fact that their friend was fading, when suddenly an unbelievably bright flash of golden light filled the hut. Its blinding blaze was accompanied by a small shock wave that threw everyone to the floor, including Mastix, who cried out in surprise and pain. His spell was broken immediately, releasing Asterix from his grip with a jolt. Obelix ran forward, catching a semi-conscious Asterix as the little Gaul collapsed limply into his arms. The green glow disappeared in the stunning atmosphere of golden shafts of brilliant light. Just as quickly as it had appeared, the light vanished, leaving all present blinking and rubbing their eyes in confusion and worry; seeing spots from the unexpectedly luminous explosion.

For the first time since he had arrived in the village, Mastix looked truly frightened. He was leaning with his back pressed against the far wall, breathing hard with eyes wide in shock. His startled gaze was fixed on Asterix, who was being gently supported by his large friend, only half conscious. The other Gauls were starting to angrily make their way toward Mastix, but the villain didn't seem to notice. He remained with his eyes locked on the little blond Gaul. Suddenly, his stunned expression began to change; curling his mouth into a thin, evil smile. He raised his hands, surrounding himself in that same green light, and then, all at once, he disappeared.

The Gauls pulled up short; shocked.

"Where'd he go?!"

"He just vanished into thin air!"

"Nonsense! No one just vani-"

"Well, _he_ did!"

"Stop!" Getafix shouted shakily. He had finally gained enough mobility to stumble forward and kneel beside Obelix. He quickly reached for Asterix's pulse, relieved to feel a strong heartbeat coming from his friend; though he noted it was a little faster than normal. "Quick, help me get him to the cot! Someone light the fireplace and open all the windows!" He tried to get up to assist himself, but he didn't make it back into a standing position. His body refused to work any longer, and he fell back to the floor with a frustrated grunt. "Oh, for Toutatis' sake!"

The druid felt a hand on his shoulder, and, upon looking up, found it was Vitalstitistix. "We'll take care of it, Getafix," the Chief urged, "Just rest for a moment." He and Fulliautomatix moved to help carry Asterix to the small bed in the corner of Getafix's hut, but Obelix stood to do the task himself.

The big Gaul gently laid his friend on top of the woolen sheets, making sure to remove the winged helmet. He felt his throat tighten as he gazed at the still form. Asterix had been so tired and worn-looking even before this incident; now, he looked even worse. He was pale; terribly pale. His breathing, though steady, was slightly raspy, as if he had been badly choked. On his bare arms, dark bruises were beginning to appear, looking very painful. Obelix wasn't sure how they had gotten there, but he was certain the stranger had been responsible. The big Gaul decided right then and there that he disliked that man very, _very_ much.

Fulliautomatix and the other villagers helped Getafix up off the floor and brought him over to a chair. They noticed that the druid was nearly as haggard as their warrior. They were confused; not understanding what had happened.

"Getafix...What did that man want? Who is he?" Unhygenix asked; everyone glancing back toward the corner where the intruder had disappeared. The thought of the villain willed their hearts with fear and dread. He had managed to best both Asterix and Getafix, leaving both exhausted and battered. It didn't set well in their minds. They felt exposed and unsafe.

Getafix closed his eyes as he fought against the urge to collapse himself. He glanced up at the fishmonger with a desperate look, one that didn't bring the village men any comfort. He lowered his eyes to look at Asterix, so still and silent on the cot.

"An enemy," he murmured faintly, "A very dangerous and deadly foe."


	11. Calm Before the Storm

Something cold and clammy pressed itself gently against Asterix's forehead, and he instinctively tried to push it away. But when he raised a hand to do so, his limb felt as heavy as lead, refusing to function the way he wanted. He felt that same cold touch shift to take careful hold of his wrist, forcing it carefully back down onto...whatever he was lying on. Asterix became aware that everything was terribly dark around him, and for a moment he almost panicked. But then he realized that the reason was that his eyes were closed. Funny. He didn't remember falling asleep. But it was time to wake up now, he was sure; and so, groggily, he forced his eyes to open.

It was far harder to do than he would have expected. Like his lids were being weighed down; heavy and uncooperative. When he finally did manage to raise them, his winced painfully at the sudden brightness the action caused to suddenly shine in his eyes. He tried to block the light with his hand, but again it refused to cooperate. He blinked furiously, finding his sight blurry and unfocused. All he could see was a shifting mess of colors and light, and even that was beyond what the smaller Gaul felt he could handle at the moment. Asterix discovered he had a most terrific headache; the kind that settles right behind your eyes. It pounded away in his skull, like the beat of a drum, and it took him a moment to realize it was his own heartbeat he was hearing.

A voice that seemed painfully loud erupted beside him. "Getafix! Look, he's waking up!"

"Shh!" Came another, far softer than the first. "Not so loud. If he feels half as bad as I do, he's not going to appreciate too much noise."

It was Getafix's voice, the little Gaul concluded. But why was...? Suddenly, everything came back to him with a rush. The old woman; Getafix's return; the stranger; the spell; and that horrible _pain_. With a jolt, Asterix became fully conscious and attempted to sit up. It was more of a floundering motion, since his legs felt oddly numb, but the little Gaul was bound and determined to move. Again a cold hand latched onto him, but this time it helped him up rather than held him down. The blur beside him was white, testifying that it was indeed the village druid.

"Now, take it easy, Asterix," Getafix warned gently. His voice carried with it an immense amount of concern. "You are going to feel a little numb at first. Just relax; it will fade shortly."

"What...What happened?" Asterix croaked. His throat was very dry, making it feel even more rough than it already did. He became aware of how sore he was; all over. It felt as if he had been badly beaten; bruised and battered. As he finally made it to a sitting position, his eyes started to come into focus; slowly. He looked carefully about him, not too surprised to find himself still within the druid's hut. What he _did_ find surprising was that almost the entire population of the village appeared to be congregated around the room, all looking very concerned. Even the women and children were present. It left very little space, but they all had managed to squeeze in, somehow. The blond Gaul turned his questioning eyes back to Getafix.

"I...I remember the stranger," Asterix recalled haltingly, "And...and what he did. Then there was a...bright flash." He attempted to raise his hand to his head and was relieved to find that he was a little more successful than before. "Why can't I seem to move right?"

Getafix nodded from his seat on the side on the cot. "Mastix had you in some sort of paralyzing spell. It is not permanent, thank Toutatis, but it will take several moments to wear off." The druid leaned forward and felt the little Gaul's forehead once more. He shook his head. "You have got a bit of a temperature too. But that should also fade. How do you feel otherwise?"

Asterix shifted on the sheets uncomfortably. "Sore." But then he remembered that he hadn't been the only one to be attacked. He sat up straighter, focusing completely on his friend. "Getafix, are you hurt?! That man used the spell on you as well!"

"I'm fine, Asterix," the druid assured, "Though a I think I may have pulled a muscle or two. It seems that Mastix didn't hit me as hard as he did you." His voice carried a tone of anger at that. And it seemed to be true. The druid appeared to be perfectly mobile now, though perhaps a little stiff. The stranger must have held back with Getafix, not wanting to kill him; but with Asterix he had let loose, surging as much power into the spell as possible.

Asterix looked down at himself, noting the dark, black and purple bruises that checkered his bare arms. He touched them gingerly with a wince. He looked up to give the rest of the villagers an encouraging smile, trying to ease their worry that showed so strongly in their expressions. Asterix suddenly noted that someone was missing.

"Where's Obelix?" Not knowing where his friend was frightened Asterix badly. He couldn't remember all that had happened with the stranger, and he was all at once very scared that something might have happened to his big companion. Obelix would have been the first to be at his side otherwise.

Getafix allayed his fears quickly however. "I sent him to go fetch a few ingredients I need. I am sure you are experiencing a rather unpleasant headache?"

Asterix nodded, regretting it immediately. The motion only succeeded in making his head pound harder.

"As am I." The druid ran a hand over his face tiredly. "That is why I sent Obelix. He was very worried about you, and he needed something to keep him busy. He should be back any-"

"Asterix!"

As if on cue, the Gauls had to make a quick path as Obelix came barreling through the door. His arms were full of several stalks of some strange, bush-like plant that was known to grow on the Eastern side of the village. He dumped the load of greenery into Fulliautomatix's arms, running forward to stand beside the bed. He lay a gentle hand on Asterix's shoulder, mindful of the bruises. His eyes were full of concern, searching his friend over as if he expected to find some frightful injury.

"Asterix, you're...you're alright?"

The little Gaul gave him a reassuring smile. "I'm fine, Obelix; just a little tired."

Obelix didn't seem convinced. Asterix looked terrible; what with him being as pale as he was, and the dark circles under his eyes. The bruising marks on his arms only increased his exhausted, haggard look, making Obelix wish that there was something he could do to get rid of them. The big Gaul remained where he was, continuing to keep his hand rested on his friend's shoulder. It was as if he believed that, if he were to let go, Asterix would fade away altogether.

The little Gaul glanced back to their druid, who had already taken the herbs from Fulliautomatix and brought them over to his cauldron in the fireplace. He noticed with relief that Getafix had regained the use of his legs; though he still seemed a little slow and unsteady. But he saw that the druid had been correct; Getafix seemed far less affected by the stranger's spell than Asterix himself had been. The younger Gaul was more spent; drained.

"How long was I out?," was the next question that came to Asterix's lips.

"A-about an hour," Vitalstitistix spoke up from the group. The look of guilt on his face was unmistakable. In fact, every one of the Gauls looked absolutely miserable. They all felt horrible that Asterix had been hurt so badly, especially since the way they had treated him the day before. It had been torture to see their friend so helpless; struck down for their sake. They could never repay that. They could never repay anything Asterix had ever done for them. The little warrior always put their needs before his own. Always put his safety at risk, just so they could be secure. Asterix had been their hero again and again, for years...and they had treated him as if he were nothing but a bother; a nuisance. It took a disaster like this to make them remember how important Asterix was to them. And of that they were truly ashamed.

Asterix seemed disturbed by the fact that he had been unconscious for so long. So much time had been wasted. There was no doubt in the blond Gaul's mind that this Mastix fellow would return, and if their first meeting was anything to go by, Asterix knew they were all in great danger. The side of him that was the village's warrior stepped forward, pushing his needs aside. He shifted himself on the bed until his legs were dangling over the edge, preparing to test his ability to stand. The reaction of his fellow Gauls was immediate. They all rushed to stop him, quickest of all being Obelix.

"Asterix," Getafix chided firmly, coming forward and taking hold of his arm to keep him from getting up. "You are not yet recovered enough to leave this cot." His voice was firm; demanding, but his expression was softer, begging Asterix not to push himself too far before he was ready.

But Asterix refused to cater to his own needs. "Getafix, we don't have time," the smaller Gaul contended; though he made no more attempts to rise. "We have to find a way to defend ourselves against this intruder, before he returns." The others reluctantly agreed.

"But what I don't understand," Fulliautomatix spoke up, "Is why he targeted our druid. I mean, a man as powerful as he obviously is, what use would he have for the Magic Potion?"

Getafix seemed to cringe slightly at the question. He had never mentioned Mastix to anyone; not since he had come to the village all those years ago. Only those in the Carnutes knew about the man, and Getafix had purposefully kept any knowledge of the dark druid a secret from his Gaulish friends. The sinister days of the Druidic past had no place in the light-filled world of the innocent Gauls. But now, that could no longer be the case. That same darkness that had shadowed Getafix's life thirty-five years ago, had found him once more; and the villagers were now as involved in this as he was. And, no matter how much Getafix wished that wasn't the case, there was no way to change it. Not now.

"Mastix and I...knew one another," the druid responded slowly, returning to his bubbling cauldron.

"What do you mean?" Unhygenix asked.

Getafix gazed into the boiling water, ripping up a few of the herbs Obelix had brought and throwing them in. "He and I were both apprenticed under the some mentor. He and I...grew up together." He could feel the surprise coming from the others behind his back. Getafix had known that the news would come as rather a shock to them; he had expected that.

Vitalstitistix voiced what they were all thinking. "You...you mean you two were _friends_?!"

"No!"

All the villagers flinched, having not expected the druid to answer so harshly. Getafix regretted it immediately. He was letting his emotions take control of him again. Just like they used to, back in the Carnutes. Mastix had shaken the very foundations of his life then, and he was doing so again. Getafix turned to face them, looking them all in the eyes.

"No. Mastix and I were never friends." He lowered his gaze to the herb in his hands, studying it as though it were the most fascinating thing in the world. "Mastix was often unkind to me, as well as many of the other apprentices. He craved power, and was willing to commit a most terrible crime to do so." He paused, expecting, as well as dreading, that one of the Gauls would ask what that crime had been. Thankfully, no one did. Perhaps they were able to tell how hard a subject this was for their druid, and didn't want to cause him anymore discomfort. "Mastix was banished; forced to leave the Carnutes, never to use his power again in our midst."

"But that still doesn't explain why he came here. And why he wants the potion," Fulliautomatix observed. He had his wife standing beside him, and he was lightly griping the shoulders of his little son and daughter. All the Gauls were beginning to look quite frightened.

Getafix sighed. "He is here because, after years of trying to be the best, he has failed. Among the druids," here he appeared rather embarrassed, "I am the most renowned..."

"Because of the Magic Potion," Asterix finished. Everything was starting to make sense.

"Exactly. Mastix wants to be at the top, but he can't because I'm in his way. He still thinks that he can redeem himself somehow. If he has the Magic Potion, there will be nothing to stop him from being the best." Getafix looked to Asterix worriedly. "And he won't let anything,...or _anyone_ , stand between him and that goal."

The Gauls all lowered their eyes, knowing that those words were a direct warning to Asterix himself. Of all of them, everyone knew the little Gaul would fight this new threat. Of all of them, he would be the most opposition to Mastix. Next to Getafix, Asterix was most at risk. A hush fell over the interior of the hut.

Asterix gazed around at his friends' downcast faces. Their expressions tugged at his heart, making him wish there was some way to fix this whole mess. At the moment, he had no idea how to do anything of the kind. But what he _did_ know was that they couldn't give up.

"We can fight this," Asterix said encouragingly. The others lifted their eyes to look at him. "We've faced problems, and troubles, and disaster, but we've never given up. Caesar has tried; Gracchus Armisurplus has tried; Commander Spacious* has tried; but they have never been able to defeat us. If we stay together, we can win. We can overcome any obstacle when there's hope and a will." To prove his point, Asterix pushed himself up off the bed, standing unsteadily to his feet. Obelix reached out to give him support, but Asterix gently turned his offer down. He regained his balance, finally standing on his own two feet, albeit a little shakily. He smiled at his friends, nodding in confidence. "We can win."

The little Gaul's courage and enthusiasm spread to the villagers like a warming glow. It was true; they had faced many dangers together. Times got tough, especially when you were nothing but a small, isolated village in a world where everyone wanted you wiped off the face of the Earth. They were more of a family than a village. They looked after one another; worked to ensure each other's safety. They had never let anything defeat them before, and they were determined not to let anything defeat them in the future. If Asterix, after almost being killed by that...that madman, was able to stand there with hope in his heart, then so could they.

Getafix looked on in pride. He sometimes forgot how brave Asterix truly was; how calm, even in the face of danger. It was rare when the little Gaul had to confront a villain as monstrous and sinister as Mastix. In fact, Getafix doubted Asterix had ever been pitted against such a formidable foe. They had always had magic on their side, and there was little Caesar or anyone else could do against that. But this was different. This was magic against magic; and Mastix was strong. It would be a struggle; one that Getafix prayed wouldn't end in tragedy.

"So," Asterix asked, turning to the druid. "What do we do now?"

Getafix passed him a small beaker of the contents from his cauldron with a chuckle. "Well, first I would recommend you drink this. It will help with the pain." Asterix opened his mouth to protest, but Getafix cut him off. "And don't bother denying it. You _are_ in pain, and you know it. Now, drink."

Asterix complied, taking note that the druid drank some as well. The potion was warm, and Asterix could feel it slide all the way down his throat. He felt almost immediate relief; his head and other hurts returning a little closer to normal.

"First things first," Getafix continued, "We must make sure Mastix doesn't get what he wants."

"Which is the Magic Potion," Vitalstitistix added.

"Right. I have not made any recently, since I was away. There is none for him to take..." Getafix suddenly looked a little ill. "...Except for that which Asterix carries."

All eyes turned to the small, green gourd that hung from Asterix's belt.

"Mastix will be looking for the potion, either by returning, or by using his magic," Getafix continued slowly. "He will discover that our warrior is in possession of the only amount available and..." He looked even more ill. "Asterix..."

The blond Gaul already knew what the druid was thinking. He took the container from his side, clutching it in his hands as if he were reluctant to let it go. "Getafix, I won't let Mastix-"

"No, Asterix" the druid said firmly. "I will not allow you to be put in danger just because a bit of potion is in your care. Mastix _will_ find out. Then your life wouldn't be worth one denarius...Pour it out."

A gasp went up from the gathered villagers. They all knew how important that small amount of potion had always proved to be in the past. It was often the item that saved them in their most desperate hour. To take that away was like pulling the safety net out from underneath a performing acrobat. It was taking away just another small fraction of their chance of survival. But Getafix was right. They couldn't let Mastix have what he wanted. Asterix having the potion would only endanger them all, but especially Asterix. It may be that, this time, it would be their undoing rather than their salvation.

Asterix looked at the gourd in his hands. It was worn from years of use; having been carried with him on every adventure he had ever set out on. It was something that Asterix had always relied on; always there no matter what. Even in their darkest hours, it had been that one, little advantage that always made a _huge_ difference. And now, Getafix was telling him to throw it away. The very thought of not having it made Asterix worried and nervous. But he trusted the druid's judgement; and so, unscrewing the cap and tipping the gourd, Asterix poured its contents onto the hut's dirt floor. The dust sucked up the greenish-gold liquid, until every last drop was drained.

Asterix let the empty gourd fall to the floor. They all looked at it, as if it foretold of how everything was going to turn out in the end. A small amount of their despair returned; even Asterix felt it this time. It was always very frightening when they didn't have any Magic Potion. The last time, they had very nearly come to disaster*. But Asterix knew that their courage was just as strong as any potion, and that was what they would have to rely on now.

"We can do this," the little Gaul stated once more, eyes still locked on the gourd. He smiled, raising them to Getafix. "Besides, we have a druid of our own. The _best_ druid, no less. Mastix may find we're a little more of a challenge than he first thought."

Getafix grinned at the compliment. "I will see what I can do to prevent Mastix from doing any more harm. I am certain there must be a spell sufficient to do so in here somewhere." He gestured to the shelves of hand-written manuscripts around him; his collection of spells.

"What about the spell you used on Mastix earlier?" Cacofonix spoke up. He had been so quiet up until now, most had forgotten he was even there.

Getafix blinked in confusion. "Earlier?"

"Yes. When Asterix was freed from Mastix's spell. The bright flash of golden light."

Their druid's face became clouded with confusion. In truth, Getafix had been so concerned for Asterix that he hadn't really paid all that much attention to the event at the time. But now, as he thought back, he realized that the bard was right. There _had_ been a powerful explosion of bright, golden light. But it had most certainly _not_ come from him.

"That was not me," Getafix confessed, "Though I wish I could say it was."

"Then what was it?" Impedimenta asked. Though she had not been there at the time, all the women had been informed of the mornings events. She was quite concerned, as were the rest of the womenfolk.

"I do not know." Getafix ran a hand down his beard in thought. "It's possible that Mastix's spell somehow redirected. That could happen, if it was an unsteady sort of spell. It could slip, much like your foot can shift beneath you and throw off your balance. That might do the trick. But Mastix's spell appeared to be quite stable..."

"Well, whatever the reason, it's in the past," Asterix chimed in. They had wasted enough time. They had to find a way to defend themselves before Mastix decided to pay another visit. "We need to get to work. Getafix, Obelix and I will assist you." The little Gaul turned to the others. "The rest of you go and find something to keep your minds off this whole matter." The Gauls seemed reluctant to leave. "I promise I'll come and get you the moment we find a solution," Asterix promised.

The villagers nodded. Asterix's word was good enough for them. Shuffling out the door, they headed off to attend to their usual, daily chores. Asterix, Obelix, and Getafix remained.

"Alright," the blond Gaul announced. "Let's get to it."

* * *

Deep within the recesses of the forest outside the village, darkness seemed to reside in one particular clearing. A black, depressing mist that blocked out the rays of the summer sun like a veil. It swirled in the treetops like an inky fog, wrapping and twisting among the once green leaves. Now the foliage was dead, drained of its life by the dark force around it. Lack of sun and good had choked it out, leaving nothing but shriveled pods of brown.

Below, in the middle of the clearing, Mastix sat at a small table he had fashioned from a log. On it was one, solitary candle; the only light to be found in this evil camp. Illuminated by its flickering flame was a book, old and worn. Mastix flipped through its many pages, finger tracing the words of each leaflet as his eyes roved through its contents. All at one he paused, eyes widening as he finally discovered the chapter he had been searching for. He read over the faded, garbled words and flipped to the next page, the memory of the scrawls returning to him at each line. He smiled nastily, letting out a dark chuckle. Getting up and moving over to his collection of portable supplies, he began to sift through the objects, selecting the ingredients he would need.

Behind him the book lay opened, still illuminated by the fading candlelight. The page fluttered in a sudden breeze, blowing back to the chapters title. It read:

The Spell of Extraction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Yes, this is the same Commander Spacious from my story Safe and Sound (which can be found on Fanfiction.net). I couldn't help mentioning him. :)
> 
> *Another small reference to my story Safe and Sound.
> 
> There we go. A little shorter than some of the other chapters, but I thought it was important to have a chapter that served as a sort of breather. I needed the characters to sit back a moment and do some reviewing and discussing. They needed a little break before the next stage in their adventure begins.


	12. Concealed Past

Getafix rustled through the overwhelmingly large pile of parchments and home-bound tomes. He wrinkled his nose, trying not to sneeze as immeasurable amounts of dust was dislodged from the books to float in the air around him. It was a nightmare. Over thirty-five years worth of notes, scrawls, thoughts, observations, successes and failures, all kept in a dreadful mess; stored in no particular order whatsoever. The druid greatly regretted that he had never addressed his unfortunate habit for being untidy. He may have attempted once or twice to categorize them; tried to weed out the ramblings from the actual spells, but those attempts were far in the past by now, and would be of no useful purpose to dwell on.

It was frustrating; especially since they were in such a rush. Getafix found that he had to force himself to slow down, as he had started to drop things, making it even harder to proceed in their task. His nerves were truly on edge, even though the druid did his best to hide it. Mastix could return at any point, and they might not be so fortunate the next time round. The dark druid's magic was far stronger than it had ever been. It was stronger than any magic Getafix had ever seen, or even heard of. That crushing weight of the paralyzing spell had been so stable, leaving visible marks on both himself and Asterix. Spells of that sort usually weren't physical. They were more often an illusion, tricking the senses into believing that there was physical pain. But Mastix had somehow achieved some form of magic beyond that, being able to inflict real, concrete harm.

Beside him, Asterix and Obelix helped shift the papers from the many shelves and cubbyholes; carrying them over to the table where they could be spread out and looked through. Obelix could haul much more at a time, which wasn't necessarily a bad thing. It meant that Asterix was left with less to carry. The little Gaul was still wobbling on his legs a bit, but he had healed considerably faster than Getafix had anticipated. Probably because Asterix was far younger than the elderly druid; he had therefore recovered more swiftly. But the short Gaul looked tired and worn, making Getafix wonder if perhaps his friend had been feeling unwell before the incident with Mastix.

Of the druid's two companions, Asterix was the most motivated; moving along at a fast, concentrated pace. He had a village to protect, and that was enough to make him work as quickly and efficiently as he could. The threat of the looming darkness was a dull cloud in the back of the little Gaul's mind, forever reminding him of the 'what if's and 'could happen's should they fail to find a solution in time. He couldn't bare to see any of his friends suffer at Mastix's hand. Seeing Getafix trapped in that horrible spell had been heartrending enough. But this village was full of men, women, and children; they needed to be kept safe at all cost. Every last Gaul was important, and Asterix was determined to put their lives before his own if need be. Though, as he shuffled through the endless mess of druidic notes, Asterix fervently hoped it would never come to that.

Obelix, on the other hand, still didn't quite understand everything that had taken place so far. He didn't understand why Mastix would want the Magic Potion. Getafix had said he wanted it for the power, but that still didn't make sense to Obelix. He had fallen into the potion when he was just a little boy, giving him incredible strength. As far as anyone knew, Obelix was the strongest human being in the world. And yet, he didn't see what it had done to him that Mastix would want. The evil man already had deadly powers, as shown by the magic he had used against both Asterix and Getafix. What would strength add to that? As far as Obelix knew, there was no connection between physical strength and magical strength. After all, whenever Getafix drank the Magic Potion, which he rarely did, he became outwardly strong, just like the rest of them. But it didn't improve his magic; nor did it advance the druid's knowledge in any way. There was no connection. And it confused Obelix terribly.

"Why does Mastix think the Magic Potion will make him so powerful, Getafix?" the big Gaul finally asked. His question broke a silence that had lasted for the last several minutes.

The druid answered without looking up from the heavy volume he was inspecting. "It's not so much that he thinks it will make him powerful, Obelix," Getafix did his best to explain. "It's more symbolic."

"Symbolic?"

"Yes. As a sort of trophy; a sign of achievement. He will be considered the best because he holds what is considered to be the best." Getafix finally looked up, taking in Obelix's puzzled expression. The druid sighed. "Mastix thinks that if he takes the Magic Potion from me, I will be left less powerful, therefore making him more powerful. Do you understand?"

Obelix would have _liked_ to say that he understood completely, but that would have been a lie. But he didn't want to frustrate the druid any more than he already had, so he settled for middle ground. "A little." They turned back to their task, putting the papers that had already been searched through into a stack on the floor. There was silence again, before Obelix voiced his next question. "What do you think Mastix will do when he finds out he won't be getting any potion from us?"

Getafix had been wondering that himself. "I am...not certain. We could always hope that he would just turn around and leave...but, somehow, I don't see that happening. Mastix was always very persistent. He won't be pleased, and he may continue to try and take it by force, like he attempted to do earlier. His power has grown since we were both apprenticed in the Carnutes...I am not even certain of what he is fully capable now."

"You...you don't think he'll try to...to hurt you or Asterix again, do you?" Obelix wished desperately that Getafix would allay his fears. He sent Asterix a quick glance, knowing that his friend was listening even though he was focused on digging through the parchments.

Getafix wanted to comfort the big Gaul, just as much as Obelix wanted to be comforted, but to do so would be giving false hope. "Yes, Obelix. I believe he will try. Preferably, he will want to cripple me, and will do so by any means...even by harming one of you, or the other villagers."

Obelix's eyes widened in disbelief. "But...but that's not right!" he declared angrily, but with a strong tone of fear behind it. "Surely he wouldn't attack the woman or...the...children...?" His voice trailed off as Getafix shook his head sadly.

"Mastix will do whatever it takes to get what he wants. That is why he was banished."

"Just what did he do?" Asterix's voice came from the dusty corner, where he was almost completely invisible behind a growing stack of thick, old books. "It must have been pretty bad to be forced to leave."

The two Gauls missed the shadow that fell across their druid's face. Getafix's mind flew back to that terrible, fateful night all those many years ago. He still remembered it clearly; every sound, sight, and feel. It still hurt emotionally, just as it had then. Getafix really didn't want to discuss it. Not at all. But he owed it to his friends to warn them of what they were facing, and the only way he could do that, was to tell them everything.

"Mastix was banished...the eve after our Druidic Ceremony," he began, haltingly.

"Ceremony?"

"Yes, Obelix. It is an event in which the apprentice druids cross over to be real, true men of magic. To pass, each must perform a simple spell, without mistake or incident. If he does succeed, the apprentice becomes a full-fledged Druid." Getafix paused at the memory. He recalled the buzz of joy and excitement that had been in the air that day; tinged with just a bit of nerves. All the students had wanted to make it; all of them were anxious to pass...but Mastix most of all. "Everyone had given their presentation, including myself, leaving only Mastix to perform. He...he worked dark, forbidden magic...and, as a result, one of our elder druids was killed."

Obelix and Asterix looked up sharply, eyes wide in shock. They were stunned, though, in all rights, they shouldn't have been. Both Gauls had seen the hatred and malice that had emanated from Mastix; the pure evil intent. Asterix most of all should have realized that the ex-druid was more than capable of murder. He had felt the direct force of Mastix's hate and wrath. Even Obelix, who had only felt the intense fear that Mastix could instill in one's soul, realized that he had known, if only subconsciously, that Mastix could kill. It just wasn't any of the Gauls' first thoughts; they never assumed the worse of people until given reason to. And they had now been given reason to.

But it was still hard for Obelix to grasp. "You mean...killed killed?...Like, killed _dead_?" he inquired, as if maybe, just maybe, there was some other meaning for the word.

Getafix nodded miserably. "The spell Mastix used was the Spell of Extraction, from the Book of Olc; a book of forbidden spells. The elder he killed, Prolix, was a special man. He was a Solas Anam-"

"A solars what?" Obelix interrupted. Of the three men, he was the only one completely captivated by the tale. He had stopped moving through the papers, giving Getafix his full attention. Asterix, on the other hand, was still working along, too pressed for time to stop. But he _was_ listening. Obelix could tell by the way the wings on the blond Gaul's helmet stood straight and erect. It was really quite odd how the little, feathered objects always seemed to convey Asterix's emotions.

Getafix too had continued to work, even while he was talking. He frustratingly closed a book he had just deemed useless and tossed it aside as he continued the story. "A Solas Anam, Obelix. A very rare, gifted person. They have a special power inside them. Prolix was one of these. Mastix knew, and wanted to test the Spell of Extraction on him, while also gaining the respect of his elders...He did not know the spell would kill Prolix, of that we were certain. But, in this case, that did not matter. Mastix was banished that night. He left, but sent terrible spells that destroyed the Carnutes, and, if we had not been so fortunate, might have caused the deaths of many. We were forced to flee; and I came here."

"How long ago was that?" Asterix breathed, having paused in his work. He had picked up on the distressed, almost pained tone in the druid's voice, and was therefore deeply concerned. He had never been aware of just how traumatic a life Getafix had lived before arriving in the village. In fact, Asterix had never really even considered that the druid had _had_ a life anywhere else before then at all. It was a rediculous thing to assume, now that he thought of it. Just because Getafix had lived in the village Asterix's entire life, didn't mean that Getafix had always lived there. He had just never though about it before.

Getafix actually smiled, though it was more bitter than joyous. "Exactly one day before you two were born."

"But this Prolix fellow," Obelix spoke up, "If he had this Solas...Solas...this _power_ , why couldn't he just use it to fight against Mastix's spell?"

"From what I understand, it's not a power that can be channeled or used by the one who is gifted with it. It's more that it lives _in_ them, through their personality. More of a gift to those around them, than a gift to themselves. How, I don't know," Getafix admitted. "I did a little research on the matter a few years ago, but after what happened in the Carnutes; well, it just proved to be...too painful a subject." The three men lapsed into silence.

Asterix began to analyze all the information Getafix had just given them on Mastix and started to incorporate it into what he already knew. Mastix was a man who wanted to be known far and wide for his skills and talents. He wanted to be seen as the greatest among his peers, as well as his betters. But in doing his all to be the most, Mastix had only succeeded in becoming the least. It was sad, really. All Mastix had ever wanted was approval. Asterix almost felt bad for him...until he thought of the druid Mastix had killed. Prolix, wasn't it? How tragic. Asterix couldn't even begin to understand how horrible that must have been for the other druids; to see their friend killed. And that poor elder. He had never deserved such a terrible end; nobody did. From what Getafix said, Prolix had been very special, and had obviously been a great friend to their druid. Asterix felt his heart fill with such sorrow and sympathy for these people, he almost couldn't bare it.

"Getafix...I'm...I'm so sorry," was all he could manage.

The druid looked up at the smaller man, taking in his mournful expression. That was the thing about Asterix; not only was he sympathetic, he was empathetic. He didn't just feel Getafix's sorrow; he understood it. And sometimes that was greater than all the powers and magic in the world. Though Asterix never spoke of it, Getafix knew the little Gaul's biggest fear was losing those he cared about. Time and again they had come close, but, as of yet, all the villagers remained healthy and safe; largely because of Asterix. Though the little warrior had never lost anyone, it was his worst, most consistent fear. And often the fear of something, makes it just as real as if it were actually happening.

"Yes, well," Getafix said gently, giving Asterix a kindly smile that he hoped was reassuring. "That was a long time ago. I have made closer friends here among you Gauls than I ever did in the Carnutes. And I don't intend to let Mastix take that away from me."

Asterix's face became strong and determined once more. "Neither shall I."

"Nor I," Obelix added, for good measure.

Getafix nodded. "Good. Now, how in Toutatis' name am I going to do it!" He slammed a musky volume shut with a puff of dust, tossing it into the pile of books they had already searched. His frustration, which had been diverted by the conversation, quickly returned full force. "My records are in such disarray, I doubt I'd be able to find my recipe for boar stew, never mind any of my protection spells from my studies in the Carnutes!"

Obelix licked his lips. Personally, he hoped Getafix _would_ find the recipe for boar stew. It had to be well after noon by now...

"But, Getafix," Asterix ventured carefully, "wouldn't Mastix already be familiar with those spells? He has been banished for so many years, mightn't he have found or created stronger spells that could overpower them?"

Getafix stared at his younger companion for a moment, truly awed by that revelation. Of course! How foolish of him! It only made sense that Mastix would have advanced well beyond anything he had learned in the Carnutes, just as he himself had. But Mastix's natural gift for magic would have given him an advantage. Asterix was right. The protection spells from the Carnutes would more than likely be child's play to Mastix.

"Yes," Getafix mused, "That's quite true. So what we need is something that Mastix is not familiar with."

"Like one of your own creations, perhaps?"

Getafix's eyes widened. Turning to a pile of far more recent parchments he began shuffling through them with renewed vigor. "Asterix, you're a genius! Mastix couldn't possibly be familiar with my magic, not after how much I have progressed since he and I were apprenticed. It won't keep him out forever, but it will certainly give us some time to come up with something more effective!" His expression grew grim as he made another observation. "That would explain why we were unable to defend ourselves against Mastix's spells back all those years ago in Carnutes. Mastix knew all our defenses. It was like trying to guard a city when the enemy knows every weak spot and secret entrance. If only we had known that then...Aha!" The druid lifted a badly wrinkled paper from the stack, holding it up so he could better see it in the light.

Asterix and Obelix quickly moved to Getafix's side. They peered at the parchment, trying to read the blotched and smeared handwriting, but with little luck. The scrawls were written in some language that neither Gaul could read, though they recognized it as one of the common inscriptions that Getafix often used for his notes.

"What is it?" Obelix inquired, craning his neck to better see the object held between the druid's hands.

"It's a spell I worked up a few years ago," Getafix explained. He let his eyes wonder over the notes. "It's a Neutralizing spell."

"Neutralizing?" Asterix had to stand on tip-toe to see; the opposite problem of his much larger friend.

Getafix nodded. He gave the paper a few taps with the back of his hand. "It's in the same category as a protection spell, except instead of deflecting outside magic, like most, it cancels out any magic at all in the area it is cast."

"So, it's like a shield?"

"No, not quite. It won't keep out anything physical. In fact, if he wanted, with this spell active Mastix could walk right into the village without a problem." The druid chuckled at his friends' confused expressions. "But he wouldn't be able to use any magic. His powers would be completely useless."

"Then you could beat him," Obelix finished, believing that was the correct assumption. But Getafix shook his head.

"I said it cancels out _all_ magic in the area, Obelix. That means that, besides the Neutralizing Spell itself, I too would be left powerless under it."

Asterix shook his head nervously. This idea wasn't giving him a very good feeling. "I'm not sure I like that."

Getafix sighed. "Well, at the moment, it is all we have. It will work for a while, though I have no doubt Mastix will figure it out eventually. But it would give us a little more time." He glanced over at the shorter Gaul. "Though I do think we should run it by Vitalstitistix and the others first. There are a few problems with this spell that might be prudent to mention. But we should hurry; the longer we wait, the greater the possibility that Mastix will return before we are sufficiently ready to defend ourselves."

"I'll go get them," Asterix volunteered, already heading for the door. Obelix, like his ever faithful shadow, followed.

"And I'll gather the ingredients we'll need from my storeroom," Getafix muttered. He turned and headed in that direction, disappearing from view before his companions had even disappeared through the door to the outside world of summer sunshine.

* * *

Asterix blinked in the golden light, his eyes stinging slightly as they attempted to adjust to the sun once again. He still had that headache, though it was considerably less painful than it had been before. Getafix's potions were often very effective, but they weren't perfect. Asterix had hoped that the concoction would take away all his aches and pains immediately, but the odds seemed to be against him in that regard. Aside from the faint throbbing in his skull, he was still pretty sore. A few of his muscles felt as though he might have pulled them, but he could handle that. All in all, he had really been quite fortunate, and he knew it. If Mastix's powers hadn't misdirected, or whatever it was that Getafix had said must have happened, he could have been hurt a lot worse. A _lot_ worse.

Obelix waddled beside him. The big Gaul was very relieved to see his friend out and moving again. Nothing in the world had scared him so much as seeing Asterix trapped in that invisible spell. It had been even worse when Asterix had collapsed. When that had happened, for a few, brief moments, Obelix had thought that Mastix had killed the little Gaul. The relief of seeing Asterix still breathing had nearly caused Obelix to pass out himself. It was hard for the well-covered Gaul to accept that there existed in the world, men capable of taking another person's life. Sure, the villagers had faced villains more than capable in the past, but it still left Obelix stunned. He always thought the better of people, until they gave him reason to do otherwise.

"Where's Dogmatix?" Asterix asked quite suddenly. He had all at once become very aware of the pup's absence.

"I left him at your hut when we first went off to find Petunia...er, Mastix." It was confusing knowing that the two where one and the same. The dark druid must have used a spell to disguise himself as a woman, because the man that they had seen in Getafix's hut had looked nothing like Petunia. Except the clothes, and the eyes. Why Mastix had been able to change every aspect of his appearance except his eyes was a mystery. Maybe because the eyes were supposed to be the window to the soul, and Mastix could do nothing to hide his own evil nature. Even Obelix could see now why Dogmatix had been so unlike himself around the strange woman. The pup had somehow sensed it, and Obelix felt absolutely awful that he hadn't. "It turned out to be a good thing," the big Gaul added, "Dogmatix would not have handled what happened very well. Being so small and young." Whether that had anything to do with why he had left his canine companion behind, Obelix didn't know. But it made him feel a little less guilty about it.

Asterix nodded. "You're probably right."

The two friends made their way down the path, finally finding themselves in the village's main center. Unfortunately, it was turning out to be another unpleasantly humid afternoon; exactly what they didn't need. The sun shone down, bathing the Gaulish abode in a smothering heat, much like the day before, only this time Asterix found that he wasn't taking it as well. He was actually beginning to feel a bit sick from the hot atmosphere. But that was probably due to the fact that he wasn't as well as he had been yesterday. More than likely he was still suffering from a slight fever, as well as continuing to be a tad bit dizzy. But Asterix didn't want to alarm his friends anymore than he already had. Things were frightening enough for them as it was, without making it worse.

It wasn't hard to find the other villagers, since they were all gathered in the village center instead of working as Asterix had suggested. Of course, the little warrior hadn't really expected his friends to take that part of his instruction. He knew they wouldn't be able to do anything productive while this dark threat hung over their heads. Especially the men. Even more so the men with wives and children. They would want to protect their families, fueling themselves to come up with a solution as quick as possible that would take care of the problem in one swift act. Unfortunately, often things like this took time. Danger couldn't always be repelled with one deft blow, like they were used to. Asterix knew this, but he also knew that most of the other Gauls didn't. They were going to want to attack, before Mastix struck again. Which, just as Asterix and Obelix joined the throng, happened to be what they were proposing.

Fulliautomatix was currently speaking, pointing a stiff finger toward the gates at arms length. His expression was grim and determined, mirroring the faces of many of the Gauls. "What are we going to do?!" he declared loudly, finishing a long tirade that both Asterix and Obelix had been fortunate enough to miss. "Time is growing short, and this druid fellow could strike again at any moment! Shouldn't we go out there and attack first, before this Mastix has a chance to do even more damage?!"

"I wouldn't recommend it," Asterix commented matter-of-factly. He had expected Fulliautomatix to be among the more aggressive strategists. It was a part of the blacksmith's strong, decisive character. He saw a problem and its possible solution, but not always the means by which to settle it. He wanted a quick fix; something Asterix knew from experience wouldn't be happening any time soon. Brute force didn't always work, and this was a perfect example. "Getafix says Mastix is dangerous. His power is far beyond any of us, even Obelix. Going outside the village would be playing right into his hands. It's what Mastix wants. Then he could use one of us to get the potion." The villagers turned to him in surprise, not having seen him join their midst. Though, how they had missed Obelix was something Asterix would never understand.

Fulliautomatix shifted his finger to point at the shorter Gaul, though his voice lost a good deal of its hostility. The blacksmith couldn't bring himself to truly argue with Asterix; not when the smaller man still looked so pale and shaky on his feet. "But Asterix, we can't just wait around for Mastix to have a go at us," he emphasized obstinately, "We need to attack before he can!"

Several Gauls voiced their agreement. It made perfect sense to them. It had always worked with every other foe they had ever encountered. Of course, they didn't have the Magic Potion at the moment, but that really didn't matter. Fear is a powerful motivator; even more so when it is the fear for the safety of someone you love. The men felt responsible for their wives and children; they _were_ responsible. They would do anything to keep them alive and secure, even if it meant running out into some desperate battle with the powers of a dark, twisted druid.

"We aren't going to wait around," Asterix affirmed, making sure everyone could hear him. "But we're not doing to attack either. We're going to defend ourselves rather than fight a battle where we don't stand a chance."

Unhygenix muscled his way through to the front of the gathering. "How?"

"Getafix says he has a special spell that should protect the village," Obelix beamed, proud of himself for actually understanding some of what their druid had told them. "It will stop Mastix's magic from reaching any of us."

"That's why I came to get you," Asterix concluded hurriedly. His mind was urging him to pick up the pace. It was as if every second were counting dangerously, tipping the scale out of their favor. They were wasting time.

Vitalstitistix nodded approvingly from the top of his shield. He was relieved by Asterix's words, having not supported the idea of going out to meet Mastix in battle in the first place. But, unfortunately, even as Chief of the village, his word was not always the final say. Many of the men, most of all Fulliautomatix, often questioned or challenged his rules or commands. Not out of disrespect, like such behavior might be seen in other cultures, but rather as a sign of their friendship. Even though Vitalstitistix had the title of leader, the Gauls often saw each other as equals, no matter the occupation. They had grown up together; knew each others' strengths and weaknesses; hopes and fears. It may have made them a little less orderly, but it also made the villagers a little bit closer. Their village was a place were a simple blacksmith, or fishmonger, or anyone could openly disagree with their Chief without fear of being punished. Though, it did make Vitalstitistix's job a little bit harder.

The other Gauls visibly relaxed. If Getafix had such a spell as one that could keep out any more attacks, their problems were over. Mastix would have no advantage over them; they were safe. The worst was behind them.

Fulliautomatix gave a relieved laugh, somewhere between chuckle and a sigh. The tenseness in the blacksmith's posture melted at once, producing a joking smile on the man's face. The danger had passed, they could all return to normal. "That's a relief; Unhygenix was thinking about trying to bargain for our safety with his supplies of fish from Lutetia," he smirked. "That would have probably enraged the old druid so much he'd have called the sky down on our heads!"

There was a moment's pause as the words sank into the humid air, before Unhygenix seemed to register the meaning of the comment. He spun around indignantly, jabbing a finger into the blacksmith's chest. "You got something against my fish, Fulliautomatix?! They are of the best quality and perfectly fresh!"

"Fresh! Ha! They're staler than last century's bread!"

The fishmonger pulled back a fist, being caught without a fish to slap the smug grin from his companion's face. The rest of the Gauls stepped back, not necessarily wanting to get involved, though it was inevitable. Fights like these always escalated quickly, and regardless of the rhyme or reason, the entire village would soon be participating in an all out brawl. It never failed. No matter the situation or time of day; anytime was a perfectly good time for a bout of harmless pummeling.

Anytime but now.

Asterix knew they didn't have time for any of this. A feeling was growing within him; that dread that had filled him so many times before. Something was going to happen; something bad. Whether he could figure out what that something was in time, Asterix didn't know. All he knew was they needed to get that Neutralizing spell up as soon as possible. He ran forward, firmly placing himself between the two men with an arm outstretched to both. The movement surprised the blacksmith and fishmonger, halting their argument at once. "Stop!" Asterix scolded angrily, "We've got to go talk with Getafix. Time is running out. If we don't hurry Mastix could come back before we're ready to defend against him. Now we need t-Ah!" Everyone present jumped at the little Gaul's sharp cry of pain. Asterix flinched in on himself, hands clutching to his chest as a sensation like lightening bloomed there. His knees gave out on him, forcing Fulliautomatix and Unhygenix to catch him before he could hit the ground. For the second time that day, he felt robbed of his breath, gasping as wave after wave of pain shot through him.

"Asterix! What's wrong?!"

The little warrior couldn't even seem to answer the blacksmith; his only response being another strangled cry as a second jolt of agony spider webbed through his upper body. Obelix pushed through the bystanders, frantically making his way to his friend's side. He took over supporting the shorter Gaul, trying to figure out what was happening.

Asterix had been fine. Getafix had given him that potion for his sores and bruises, as well as his headache. There should be nothing wrong! But here Asterix was, writhing in obvious torment, gasping for breath and clutching his chest so tightly his hands had gone white. In fact, Asterix looked deathly pale. Even paler than before when he had been trapped in the paralyzing spell. Only this was almost worse. Asterix _could_ move; kicking and squirming as if something were being slowly and painfully driven into him. Obelix couldn't understand what was happening; none of the Gauls could. The relief they had felt only moments before left them; deflating from their spirits as they became filled with panic and shock.

Their village warrior's body wasn't up to any more suffering. Between his assault earlier and his restless night's sleep the night before, it was obvious that Asterix was nearing the end of what he could handle. All at once, the little Gaul managed to move one of his hands away from its grip, grabbing Obelix's arm shakily. His eyes were full of pain, but even more; fear. Obelix saw that unmistakable expression of terror and knew instantly what was wrong, even before Asterix struggled the explanation out himself.

"M-Mast-tix!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel absolutely terrible about putting Asterix through more agony, especially after he's just barely recovered from the last attack. But, that's just how his life is going to be for a while...


	13. Neutralized

Obelix gave a sudden gasp, involuntarily wrenching his arm away from Asterix's weak, shaking grip. His withdrawal caused Asterix to fall to his knees, but, at the moment, that couldn't be helped. Pain had all at once erupted in the big Gaul's limb under his friend's touch; a stinging, burning sensation. Obelix looked at his arm in consternation, taking in the odd, blistering mark Asterix had left on his skin. It was a perfect imprint of a hand, the palm and each individual finger clearly distinguishable. The burn had turned the flesh a bright, irritated shade of pink, looking even more vibrant as it contrasted with the pale white of his unaffected skin. It still stung; a numbing, crawling tingle that made it both tickle and hurt. It was as if Obelix had accidentally brushed up against the heat of a dancing flame.

"Don't touch him!" Obelix exclaimed as several Gauls moved to assist Asterix, who was practically convulsing on the ground at their feet. He felt awful, giving an order like that; to leave his best friend kneeling in pain, but he had no choice. He didn't want anyone else to be burned. "There's something wrong! If you touch him, you'll get hurt!" The other Gauls shrank back, eyes wide and mouths shut tight. "Someone go get Getafix!"

After glancing about to see if anyone else was going to volunteer, Cacofonix took off like a frightened fawn, running for their druid as fast as his legs could carry him. He was the most logical candidate, being perhaps the fastest villager besides Obelix when not under the influence of the Magic Potion. His long, thin legs and years of learning to outrun enraged critics of his musical talents paid off as he disappeared from view in a matter of seconds.

"Oh my!"

Obelix turned at Impedimenta's exclamation. The Chief's wife, along with a number of the other woman, were fussing over Fulliatomatix and Unhygenix, who were holding their hands painfully in front of them; palms up. They were burned and blistered like Obelix's arm, looking quite nasty and irritated in the heated sunshine. The big Gaul realized that when the two men had caught Asterix, when he had collapsed, they too must have been scorched. How that was possible was beyond Obelix's understanding. As far as he knew, people weren't capable of burning people by simply touching them. This wasn't natural; and if it wasn't natural, it had to be magic. And if it was magic, it _had_ to be Mastix. Again, the largest Gaul felt himself feeling a very strong dislike of the dark druid. He wished the fellow was within his reach; he'd soon make the man leave his friends alone. At least, that's what he wanted to think he would do. But, deep down, Obelix knew that not even he, with all his strength and size, could truly stand against something so powerful as true, evil magic.

Obelix looked back to his friend kneeling by his feet, quivering in agony. It was almost more than the big-hearted Gaul could bare. Getting down to his own knees, which wasn't exactly easy for a man of his girth, Obelix hovered his hands over Asterix, wishing with all his might to touch his friend to reassure the little Gaul that things were going to be alright. Asterix's skin had left painful marks on his arm and the other two mens' hands; Obelix couldn't hold Asterix without being hurt again himself. He couldn't carry him to Getafix; he couldn't do anything. But the little warrior looked so pained and frightened, Obelix was seriously considering reaching out and picking Asterix up despite it. But then, at a sudden idea, Obelix realized that, perhaps, Asterix's skin was the only thing that would burn him. Maybe his clothing would protect the larger Gaul against his friend's fiery touch. Without a second thought, Obelix tentatively reached out one of his huge, stone-hardened hands and lay it gently against Asterix's shivering back, where his black tunic covered him fully. Feeling no pain from the action, Obelix added a little more pressure in a comforting fashion. He was both relieved and worried when Asterix leaned into it, as though it were the only thing keeping him grounded against the pain. To Obelix it didn't feel like enough, but it was all he could do.

Vitalstitistix stood directly behind the largest Gaul, wringing his hands in agitation. A part of him couldn't believe this was happening. Things had been moving so fast since that morning, and now Asterix had been attacked _twice_. Vitalstitistix might not be the village warrior, but he _was_ the village leader. He was in charge of the others. Like his father before him, Vitalstitistix was supposed to lead them; help them; direct them. In all honesty, his goal was never far off from that of Asterix. They both worked to keep the others safe and happy. The Chief made the decissions, so that others could perform them for the benefit of the village. It was the highest position in Gaulish culture; the most coveted and envied. It was supposed to be a sign of strength and bravery...but right now, looking down on his friend's suffering, all Vitalstitistix felt was weak and helpless. He should have known Petunia was a danger. Should have known nothing good ever came of mysterious strangers who came wandering into the village by the dark of night. He should have known.

Impedimenta stood beside her husband, a hand clutching his tightly as they watched in horror the events happening around them. Impedimenta's eyes had widened at the frighteningly dreadful burns on the blacksmith and fishmonger's hands, as well as Obelix's arm; worried about what such power was doing to Asterix himself. The little warrior was gasping for air, allowing Obelix to support his back, though he twitched and shook with each hitching breath. The Chief's wife had been startled when the menhir deliveryman had leaned forward to touch Asterix once more, after already having been burned once. But Impedimenta sighed in relief when the big Gaul received no pain from the action, as long as his contact stayed within the area of Asterix's clothes. Her eyes were full of sadness and fear as she took in the shorter Gaul's haggard appearance. Asterix was struggling to hang on; Impedimenta could tell. It really amazed her sometimes; the amount the small man could take. Asterix was only a few inches taller than her, and yet, as far as his bravery was concerned, he overshadowed them all. He was unique, courageous, and had a heart of gold. It made watching him suffer all the more excruciating.

Unhygenix and Fulliautomatix shared nervous glances. The pulsating pain in their hands had diminished to a dull sting; though neither man felt they could inspect them at the moment. Their stomachs had turned at the unexpected smell of burnt flesh, as well as the blisters that now covered their palms and fingers. They didn't think they would be able to handle another glance until their guts calmed themselves a little. Bacteria and Mrs. Fulliautomatix fussed over their husbands' charred injuries, trying to do their best not to faint at the sight, while attempting to comfort the men just by being beside them. The burns had been a shock. After all, when you touch someone, you don't tend to expect to feel as though you had grabbed a cauldron of scalding water. It had hurt, and the funny thing was that it hadn't hurt right away. For both Unhygenix and Fulliautomatix, neither man had truly felt the pain until after they had handed Asterix over to Obelix. _Then_ they had felt it; and it wasn't an experience they wanted to undergo ever again.

The villagers all remained perfectly still, watching in agonized silence as the attack on Asterix continued. They fervently wished they could take the small warrior into one of the huts; any of the huts. Out here, in the open, they felt as if nothing was sheltering the smaller Gaul from Mastix's spell. Of course, they all knew that wouldn't make any difference. The attack would be just as strong and dangerous inside as it was outside. But it was as if the very air; the sunshine and bright, clear, blue sky were poison. Any one of them would have traded the beautiful day for a dark, humid cottage in a flash if it would have done any good. They felt frightened and helpless. There was nothing they could do; not until Cacofonix returned with Getafix. They prayed that their druid would be able to do something to help.

Obelix didn't move his gaze from Asterix. The big Gaul's stance was stiff and determined, as though he were preparing to stand against a hurricane. He didn't shift the pressure of his hand from Asterix's back, hoping that his friend would somehow feel comforted by it. There was no way in all of Gaul that Obelix was going to let go. The blond-haired warrior was shaking so violently it was a wonder he hadn't scooted along the sands. The grip he had on his own chest hadn't lessened any. In fact, as the seconds passed, he clutched tighter. With horror, Obelix realized his friend's attack was getting worse the more Asterix weakened.

To everyone's relief, a moment later, Cacofonix came speeding back, practically dragging Getafix by the sleeve of his white robe. It wasn't that the druid was reluctant to come, he just simply couldn't keep up with the village bard as he dashed madly along the paths. Coming to a halt so abruptly that they slid, Cacofonix pointed to Asterix with a nervous, shaking finger. Dumping an armful of herbs he had carried with him from his cottage, Getafix crouched down beside the two Gauls kneeling in the dust, his face panicked and not the least bit controlled. He reacted much the same as the others had to Asterix's condition, though he knew better than to touch his friend.

"It's Mastix!" Obelix burst out, stating the obvious in his intense fear. "He's attacking Asterix again!" The villagers flinched at the emotional pain the deep voice carried. Obelix and Asterix were inseparable. The two went everywhere together; did everything together. They were as different as night and day, but just as dependent on each other. Since birth they had been by one another's side, and now the sound in Obelix's voice spoke of a terrible fear that Asterix might be about to break that bond, if they couldn't do something at once to save him.

Getafix tried to keep his thoughts in order, though it was hard. His emotions were going wild, scattering his focus, threatening to throw him into utter panic. He stared at Asterix, taking in the symptoms he could visually see at a glance. Asterix's pale face, gasping breath, and desperate hold on his chest testified to the immense pain the little Gaul was enduring. The druid saw the twitching and shivering; having to fight down another surge of frantic energy when he noticed the faint, sinister glow shining from beneath Asterix's quivering hands. There was no doubt this was Mastix's doing. Getafix cursed his past fellow student under his breath as he began digging through the supplies he had brought from his hut. He couldn't understand why Mastix would target Asterix again, and so soon. They had no Magic Potion; could Mastix still be trying to force him to brew some by torturing his friend? The thought not only filled the druid with horror, but with rage. Obelix watched the druid's shaking hands as Getafix dug through the various herbs, selecting certain ones while discarding others.

"Please, Getafix! Put up the Neutralizing Spell! Please!"

As dense as Obelix could be sometimes, he often surprised his fellow Gauls whenever he was truly thinking clearly. While that rarely happened, when it did it came to him with a jolt and a kick; like a bolt of subconscious understanding that made him think of things or do things he wouldn't normally do. Now was one of those rare times. The obvious danger Asterix was in cleared his mind, causing him to remember what Getafix had said only a short time ago. A Neutralizing Spell would release Asterix; Obelix knew it would. Getafix had said it would leave Mastix powerless and, at the moment, that was exactly what needed to be done. Whether it was long term or no, this had to stop. Now!

Getafix looked up into the larger Gaul's eyes, seeing a panic that the druid knew was mirrored in his own expression. In all truthfulness, he had been planning to do just what Obelix was now asking. But he hesitated. He wasn't as convinced that the Neutralizing Spell would be such a good idea, as he had been before. The more he thought back, the more reluctant he was to try it. That spell hadn't exactly been one of his greatest triumphs. On the contrary, he might even count it among his worst failures. The experiment had been both disappointing and exhausting; something that would certainly be a disadvantage to them right now. It was too risky; too slim a chance...But then Getafix returned his sad gaze to Asterix. He couldn't let his friend continue to suffer. Not when there was something he could do to help. The druid made his decision then and there. The spell _would_ work. He'd _make_ it work.

Grabbing the last few ingredients from the colorful pile of supplies, Getafix placed the various herbs and roots into a small mortar he had had the discretion to bring. Taking the wooden pestle in hand, the druid ground the plants into a fine, grayish-brown powder that smelled oddly of dirt and coal. He did it far more quickly than he normally would; spilling a bit here and there over the brim, though not enough to cause a problem. Keeping an ever watchful eye on Asterix, Getafix carefully poured the dust-like substance into the palm of his hand. He shifted his eyes down to the powder, as if considering some last, unpleasant option; then he stood with the villagers still gathered all around. With a dramatic phrase in some unintelligible tongue that was forgotten the moment it was heard, the druid tossed the powder into the air with a jolt of his aging hand.

The particles didn't flutter to the ground like the Gauls had expected it to; instead being caught up into the air, as though a strong breeze had taken hold of it. Only there was no breeze. The atmosphere was completely calm. They watched the powder drift far above their heads in curiosity, surprised by the fact that the spell had been so subtle.

"Close your eyes!"

Getafix's shout came just in time, warning the villagers and startling them to action just seconds before the bright, silent explosion of iridescent light. Even through their lids and shielded faces, they saw the flash, causing colorful patterns to dance within their tightly shut eyes. When the explosion had passed, and they had all returned their gaze to the sky, they saw no difference. No odd coloration; no shimmering visible field. In fact, everything appeared disappointingly normal and very non-spell-like. As if nothing magical or out-of-the-ordinary had taken place at all.

Vitalstitistix blinked with confusion up at the clear blue sky. "Did...did it work?"

"Oh, it's working," Getafix replied in a strained voice. He was slightly paler than he had been a moment before, and was a little out of breath, but in all other regards, he seemed perfectly fine.

"Getafix!"

All eyes turned to Obelix. The large Gaul was now cradling Asterix, relieved that the burning sensation had left his friend's skin. Asterix was limp, but conscious; thoroughly exhausted from the harrowing experience. His hands still lay on his chest, even though the pain was undoubtedly gone. The light pressure helped to ease the dull ache that remained, as well as the memory of it. It was like that slight soreness one gets after the cramp in their leg has finally gone away; a kind of twinge that reminds one that they should be grateful the pain has passed. The small warrior was shivering, but it wasn't the body-wracking jolts from before. These were the leftover tremors of the little Gaul's shock and fear. Obelix looked down on him in great anguish, wishing there was more that he could do.

Getafix hurried forward, kneeling beside the two and reaching out a hand to check Asterix over. The druid would have liked to have lain Asterix on the ground, where he could better see him, but it was more than obvious that Obelix would be extremely reluctant to do so. Despite how gently he was holding his friend, the biggest Gaul's grip was firm; determined to keep all danger and pain away. Asterix was safe. If Mastix wanted to hurt the warrior again, he'd have Obelix to deal with first. The druid leaned forward, trying to read Asterix's expression, wondering just how aware the little Gaul was. After such an ordeal, he would have expected Asterix to be unconscious; though Getafix was extremely glad that he was not.

"Asterix? Can you hear me?"

The exhausted face registered his voice, and the little Gaul turned his head to look at him, releasing a tight, shuddering sigh. "...Th-that...h-hurt..."

Both the druid and the villager's eyes filled with pity at that soft, whispered statement. It had most assuredly been a lot worse than simply a 'hurt'. The way Asterix had been gasping and cringing; writhing about, it had been closer to 'agonizing' or 'torturous'. But, of course, Asterix would never admit to that. He wouldn't want to scare them any more than he already had. That was just how Asterix was; even now, he was thinking of them more than thinking of himself. How their friend could manage to do so in his present state was a mystery, and tugged at their hearts uncomfortably. Mostly because they knew, should they ever be in such a situation; ever be in that much pain, they'd probably never be able to do so themselves.

"Yes, Asterix...I know," Getafix soothed gently, trying not to sound as worried as he really was. "But now you're safe. I put up the Neutralizing Spell. Mastix won't be able to reach you again for some time...And by then we'll have a plan." He really would have liked to have been able to promise them all that Mastix would never harm any of them again. But Getafix knew his spell wouldn't last. Mastix would figure it out eventually. And then, what would they do? And why did Mastix keep targeting Asterix? They'd discuss that shortly, but right now they needed to get Asterix back inside.

Asterix seemed distressed by the news. "B-but...Getafix...you...you s-said that...the Neutral...lizing Spell...had something wrong...with it..."

"Don't speak," the druid said quickly, not only because now wasn't the time to discuss those few problems with his magic that he had mentioned earlier, but because he wasn't sure how badly Asterix had been hurt. "Let me get a better look at you before you start back to being a hero again." He received a weak smile from the little warrior, but Getafix found he had to try hard to return it.

The druid looked up at Obelix, taking in the Gaul's concerned, upset expression. "Do you think you can carry him back to my hut?" It was a silly , misleading question really. Everyone knew that Obelix was far more than physically capable of carrying anyone anywhere. Getafix's real question was more of a inquiry to the large Gaul's emotional state. Could Obelix _mentally_ handle carrying his weak and injured best friend to the druid's hut? That was the real question. But Getafix needn't have worried. At the moment, Obelix's fear and anger were feeding him, and the full shock of the morning's events had not hit him quite yet. The large Gaul's emotional strength was empowering him, and he felt as though he'd be both willing and able to carry Asterix to the world's end if need be.

Standing carefully with Asterix held carefully in his large, powerful arms, Obelix turned and headed back toward the druid's hut; where Asterix had lain hurt only that morning. It wasn't fair that the little Gaul had been hit twice in one day. It wasn't fair that the moment he had finally recovered enough to stand on his own two feet, Mastix had struck him back down without a second thought. It wasn't fair. It was as simple as that. Obelix wished fervently that this would be the last misfortune to distress his friend; to distress any of them...but, somehow, he had the feeling this was just the beginning.

* * *

Mastix cursed loudly, glaring in the direction of the village with an expression of extreme hatred. In his mind's eye he could just imagine those insignificant villagers gathering around that pathetic, little, blond Gaul. He could practically feel their relief and hope, as his spell had been abruptly blocked. He had expected Getafix to try something; it was the old fool's way. But Mastix was unfamiliar with this particular spell. Otherwise he would not have been hindered by it in the slightest. This spell practically glowed with Getafix's magic style; every druid had one. Like every house has its own scent, or every culture has its own costums; every druid had their own, recognizable magic. Getafix's had always been exceptionally bright and cheery, much to Mastix's disgust. The spell that had broken his must have been something Getafix had concocted himself.

But Mastix was angry about something else as well. Even if Getafix had not interfered, Masrix knew he would not have accomplished his own spell. While he was certain his magic had caused the little Gaul a considerable amount of pain and agony, Asterix had been too far away. Too far away to truly reach the way he needed to. It was a short range spell; calling for the victim to be only as far from the caster as six yards, and even that was stretching it. Mastix had tried it anyway, more out of curiosity than anything else; as a test. But now, his fears had been confirmed. In order to attain his goal, he would need to be very close to Asterix. Very close. And that wasn't going to be easy, especially now. If only he had known of what the little Gaul was before, then he wouldn't have wasted his time in the village searching for that Magic Potion. He would have struck then and there, and nothing would have been able to stop him.

Mastix grumbled heatedly.

Now things would be harder; his goal would be more of a challenge to obtain. But Mastix was certain he could break Getafix's spell eventually; it was only a matter of time, and Mastix had plenty of that. He would just have to keep pressing; crushing against it. Getafix had never been as strong as him; and Mastix was sure he could win. Then he would have a power that no one could equal. He would be able to exact revenge on the fools in Carnutes; on the Venerable Druid. On Getafix, and all those little villagers; every man, woman, and child of them. It didn't matter that the Gauls had never even heard of him before that day. They were friends of his enemy; and that was enough. He'd make them all see who was the greatest. He'd make them all pay, whether they deserved it or not. They would all suffer.

It was just a matter of time.


	14. Inevitability

Asterix sat for the second time that day on the side of the cot in Getafix's hut. The darker lighting of the cottage, as well as the slightly musty smell of the bed's sheets, were beginning to become quite familiar to the little Gaul. Outside the sun was just starting to set in the west, filling the sky with a brilliant orange and pink hue. The day had gone by so fast; though not fast enough in Asterix's opinion. In fact, he would have been happy just skipping that day altogether. It had been full of worry, fear, embarrassment, and a good deal of pain, and not only for him. The others had been very upset; fussing over him, just like his mother would have, had she been there. They were worried about him, that Asterix understood; but all he really wanted was to let the day's events rest in the past. He had never liked being the center of attention, and now was no different. He felt ashamed that not only hadn't he been able to protect the village against Mastix's power, but he hadn't even been able to protect himself. That feeling of weakness; of helplessness, was one he found left a terrible fear within him. It was his job to protect the others, but Mastix seemed to have his powers fixed on _him_. As long as that was the case; as long as Mastix had the power to reach down and hurt him, Mastix had the power to manipulate the others. They couldn't stand seeing him suffer any more than he would be able to tolerate Mastix torturing one of them. Asterix was frightened of how far that could go. What would Mastix do to convince Getafix to give him the Magic Potion? The little Gaul didn't care about his safety so much, but what about the others? The men, women, and children? If something happened to him, who would keep Mastix from hurting them as well?

Of course, Getafix's spell was doing a fine job at the moment of keeping the dark druid's power away. The moment the Neutralizing Spell had been initiated, Asterix had felt that terrible pain leave his chest; like a chain being broken between him and Mastix. It had been such a relief; like a breath of fresh air after an eternity of drowning. But, though he was instantly released, it took Asterix a good hour and a half to truly feel himself again. Obelix had carried him to Getafix's hut, with Asterix far too weak to protest. He had been once again lain on the old sheets of the cot, and carefully examined by Getafix, under the concerned and ever-watching eyes of the other villagers. It had made Asterix very uncomfortable, but there had been nothing he could do about it. He could barely move, his muscles strained from his lack of sleep and the two brutal attacks he had received. Luckily, Getafix knew enough about Asterix's character to know he didn't like appearing helpless or weak in front of the others; especially in front of the _whole_ _village_. The druid had told them to go about their business; to go get themselves fed and take care of their children. Soon, only seven Gauls remained in the hut: Asterix, Getafix, Obelix, Unhygenix, Fulliautomatix, Vitalstitistix, and Impedimenta.

Getafix would have asked the others to leave as well, had the circumstances been different, so Asterix could rest. But that would not be happening at the moment. The druid found himself with three more patients, all suffering from rather frightful burns. Of the trio, Obelix's wound was the least severe. Having only been lightly touched by Asterix's hand, he was left with what Getafix called a 'first degree burn', while Unhygenix and Fulliautomatix suffered 'second degree burns'. Fortunately, long ago, druids had concocted a healing rub for such an injury, of which Getafix was well accustomed to using. Working around a boiling cauldron making potions had its hazards, burns of all degrees being one of the more common. It would heal the skin quite speedily; within a night and a day, with proper treatment. It was the application that was the difficult part. Rubbing a lotion onto red, exposed flesh was hardly an easy task; especially when many of the main ingredients of the concoction were of a rather more acidic nature. Fulliautomatix and Unhygenix in particular had to grit their teeth to keep themselves from crying out as the rub was applied.

Asterix felt terribly guilty. He hadn't remembered how his touch had scorched his friends, and when they had told him, Asterix had been both frightened and shocked. He was horrified to know that he had inflicted such painful injuries on the other three Gauls; apologizing profusely despite their claims that he hadn't been able to control it, and that it wasn't his fault. But it _was_ his fault, by Toutatis! They were _his_ hands! If Mastix could use his own body against his closest friends, what else would the dark druid be able to do? These thoughts tumbled around and around in the little Gaul's mind, only succeeding in causing his anxiety to grow, as well as his exhaustion. He sat on the edge of the cot, watching guiltily as Getafix continued ministering to his injured friends.

Impedimenta sat on a chair close to Asterix's left. She was very concerned about all that had happened. She was worried for them all; terrified at the prospect of going up against such a cruel and powerful enemy. She was worried about Obelix, Fulliautomatix, Unhygenix, and their dreadful burns. But, at the moment, she was most concerned about Asterix. Seeing him in such agony earlier had filled her with more fear and distress, that even now that he was sitting there, calm and quiet on the bedside, she could think of nothing else but the pain he had endured only a short while before. He looked so small and pale; almost sick. It was obvious that he needed sleep, but Getafix insisted they needed to try and get something of nutritional value into him first. That task had been left for Impedimenta, and it was far easier said than done. While Getafix had managed to get the warrior to drink a minimal amount of water, she found it nearly impossible to get him to eat anything. She didn't push him at first; that is, until she found out the short, little fellow hadn't eaten a thing all that day. She had cooked up a light, boar broth and now sat in the chair, gripping the warm bowl in her hands; determined to get it into him by force if necessary. If there was anything Impedimenta had ever learned from her mother, it was that, when someone was ailing, there was no better cure than rest, warmth, and a good meal; the last being one of which Asterix was lacking at the moment.

But Asterix remained focused on Getafix and his patients, his eyes seemingly staring right through them in an exhaustion induced, trance-like state; looking very much in need of rest. Impedimenta sighed, looking up at her husband who stood beside her, watching the little warrior with unconcealed concern.

The Chief returned his wife's sad, wordless expression, before changing his own to a look of determination. "Here, Impedimenta; let me try."

Taking the warm, wooden bowl from her small, chubby hands, Vitalstitistix carefully made his way around the chair. He sat himself down on the bed, beside Asterix, feeling slightly embarrassed by the great, creaking groan the cot gave in protest to his considerable bulk. The extra weight bowed the bed, causing the considerably less bulky Gaul to nearly fall against him. Asterix blinked rapidly, coming out of his deep, dark, troubling thoughts. He turned to Vitalstitistix, surprised to see the Chief in such close proximity to him. It wasn't that Asterix didn't like Vitalstitistix; not at all! It was just that, out of all the Gauls, Vitalstitistix was a little less...intimate. Maybe it was just part of being a leader; a figurehead; someone everyone was supposed to look up to. A leader had to be strong; giving direction and commands rather than the more delicate actions, such as giving encouragement or comfort. But seeing Asterix like he was now, motivated Vitalstitistix to step out of his area of expertise. Taking hold of the smaller Gaul's wrist, the Chieftain pressed the bowl of boar broth into Asterix's hand.

"Eat," he said firmly, though his eyes showed it was more of a plea than a command. He didn't have the heart to force Asterix to eat; even to insist seemed too harsh an action after all the little Gaul had been through. But Vitalstitistix knew Asterix, better than most would expect him to. Despite being a good six years older than Asterix, the Chief had grown up with the smaller man; they had been friends first, before fate cast them into their different roles in the village's society. They had drifted apart somewhat, over time; Vitalstitistix becoming the overseer, and Asterix a workman. It was something the Chief had been intending to mend for quite some time now. But Asterix was hard to get close to, as far as friendships went. He got along with everyone alright, as well as cared a great deal for all the villagers; as did the villagers for him. But Asterix tended to keep himself slightly separate from the others. No, that wasn't the word; he tended to keep himself separate emotionally. He kept his opinions to himself, unless he thought it was vital to the village's safety, and rarely confided in anyone; the only exceptions being Obelix and Getafix. To the others, Asterix was sometimes a bit of a mystery. One could never be sure of what he was truly thinking or feeling, mostly because the little Gaul would keep it all locked up inside him. Like he was now.

Asterix lowered his eyes to the steaming bowl of brown broth. "...I'm not really all that hungry, Chief..."

Vitalstitistix continued to press it into the other's hand. "You need to get something into you. If you don't, you won't get any better. You've got to keep up your strength." He paused, watching as Asterix hesitated. As an afterthought he added, "If you're not well, who will help us defend against Mastix?" It was rather a low blow, he knew; but Asterix needed to gain his footing again. If playing on his fear was the only way to get him to eat, Vitalstitistix would use it; even if it made him feel more than a little regretful.

Asterix looked back to the Chief sharply. He didn't look mad; the small warrior looked frightened. After a moment, he nodded, shakily taking the bowl from Vitalstitistix's grasp. The Chieftain got up from the bed, allowing Impedimenta to take his place. The short woman settled herself beside the short Gaul, in case Asterix needed any help. The small man's hands were shaking badly, making it difficult to spoon the broth into his mouth without spilling it back into the bowl. But he was persistent; determined to complete the task himself. Even so, Impedimenta stayed close should he need her.

Getafix continued wrapping clean linen around Obelix's arm. Glancing once more over the same treatment he had given both Unhygenix and Fulliautomatix, he saw with relief that the two Gauls' faces looked far less pained than before. The burns would heal quickly; most likely gone in two day's time. An easy fix, though the druid had no doubt that it was quite sore at the moment. He had taken great care to clean and dress the wounds, all the while softly lecturing his patients on their destructive error.

"And that's why you must never touch someone under a magic spell," he concluded. "The current of energy between them and the caster is very powerful. You're all lucky to have walked away with nothing but burns. I've seen much worse."

The three patients didn't want to know what the worst case scenario might be; still fighting to keep their nausea to a minimum, especially Fulliautomatix and Unhygenix. They couldn't imagine anything more terrible than having their skin sizzled like a boar roasting over a fire. It had hurt; it _still_ hurt. But they also know that, if it had been that painful for them, it had been a hundred times worse for Asterix.

"That should do the trick," Getafix announced with satisfaction as he finished his task with a final wrap and a tuck. "That herbal rub will mend those burns very soon, but I want you three to be careful not to get the wounds dirty. An infection would be far more difficult to tend to. So keep away from anything especially filthy." He looked to Unhygenix hesitantly. "I suggest you let Bacteria handle the fish for the next several days."

The fishmonger looked as if he were about to protest, but then shut his mouth; to tired to argue at the moment.

"Go home and get some rest," the druid instructed. "I'm sure your wives are worried about you."

Fulliautomatix and Unhygenix gave a slight nod, getting up and thanking Getafix for helping them. After making sure there was nothing more they could do, the two men left for their families. Obelix remained; sitting on a stool much to small for him by the fireplace. He was holding his injured arm, fiddling with the tightly wrapped cloth that covered it.

"If it's alright, Getafix," he asked softly, "I'd like to stay here with Asterix."

The druid nodded with a gentle smile. "I expected nothing less." Turning his attention to the other side of the room, Getafix's heart was warmed by the sight of the Chieftain and his wife carefully tending to Asterix. It was something he hadn't expected, but was truly grateful for. Asterix needed all the support they could give him. Though Mastix's most recent attack hadn't left any physical injuries, like the one prior, it had left the little warrior weak and drained; something that could be equally dangerous under certain circumstances. They needed to get Asterix back to full strength, if not for their sake, for his. Getafix knew his friend was blaming himself for all that had happened; Asterix always did. It seemed to be his way of coping; a very unhealthy way, Getafix observed with a shake of his head. The druid went to stand next to the bed, watching with satisfaction as Asterix managed to finish as much of the broth as he could; leaving just a few spoonfuls in the wooden bottom.

Asterix hadn't realized just how hungry he had been. Anxiety had dulled his appetite for the past twenty-four hours, and now it had been reawakened with a vengeance. The broth was mild and soothing, warming him from the inside out as it slid down his throat and into his empty stomach. It calmed his nerves, and, after a moment or two, the shivers that had been plaguing him for the past hour and a half slowly subsided. A little bit of color returned to his face, though he was still far paler than any of the others liked. Having had all the broth he could handle, Asterix handed the nearly empty bowl back to Impedimenta, who took it with a relieved smile.

Obelix eased himself up off his stool and came over to his friend's side. "Are you feeling better, Asterix?" It was actually the same question Getafix had been about to ask, but the druid didn't mind. Somehow it sounded less intimidating coming from Obelix, which was for the best. Asterix would be more willing to be truthful about his condition with his closest friend than he would be with Getafix.

"Tired," Asterix confessed. There was no use hiding it. He knew the others could read it in his face and body language; he was exhausted. His eyes refused to stay open for much longer, and the little Gaul realized that this was one battle he was going to lose. He wasn't invincible; he needed all the things any other person needed. Sleep being the most pressing issue at the moment. He never slept well when stressed. When a problem ate away at him, he just couldn't fall to sleep. Not until his body simply shut down from the lack of rest, like he knew it was about to. But he actually felt like he could sleep, which was strange. He had more important things to think about and do; normally he wouldn't even consider taking a rest. But, oddly enough, his body had other plans.

"Then I suggest you lay down," the druid informed. Getafix motioned for the other Gauls to shift out of the way, then, carefully, he helped Asterix beneath the sheets. Once the little Gaul was settled, the druid lay a gentle hand on his friend's shoulder. "If you need anything, just let me know." Asterix's eyes were nearly shut, but he gave a slow, almost unnoticeable nod. He was sound asleep before Getafix even turned to face the others.

Impedimenta gazed at the motionless figure wrapped beneath the folds of the blankets. "That certainly came over him awful quick," she noted with a tone of alarm. "Is he alright?"

"He'll be just fine," the druid assured her, "I just slipped him a little sleeping potion to help him rest."

The Chief's wife looked dumbfounded. "How did you do that?"

"I put a few drops in your broth."

"My broth!" She looked a little indignant at the idea, but her expression softened again as her gaze refocused on Asterix. He looked much more relaxed; less tense. Impedimenta decided that she didn't mind Getafix messing with her cooking, as long as it helped the short warrior to recover.

"And you're sure it will help him?" Obelix asked carefully, "Not hurt him?"

Getafix knew enough than to take the question personally. Obelix was scared, as they all were, and fear made you doubt a lot of things. The big Gaul's faith in magic had dwindled in the last several hours; seeing it bring nothing but pain and suffering to his best friend. Mastix's abuse of power was shameful, as well as frightening. Obelix had never seen magic used in a negative way before. Getafix's powders, spells, and potions had always been light, friendly, and helpful; not dark, sinister, and harmful like Mastix's. It was really rather a shock. Until that day, Obelix had always just assumed that all magic was right and good. But today had proved that to be nothing but the beliefs of an ignorant man. Mastix was cruel and evil, as was the power he wielded. The Obelix had seen Asterix tortured beyond what Obelix could emotionally handle at the moment. He was beginning to doubt all magic...even Getafix's.

The druid gave Obelix's uninjured arm a reassuring pat. "It won't harm him in the least. He's far too weak and drained; this will ensure he recovers before Mastix attacks again."

Vitalstitistix raised a questioning eyebrow. "You make it sound like you expect Mastix to make it through your spell," he commented anxiously. The Chief didn't like the sound of that at all. Not only for Asterix's sake, but for all of theirs. Mastix's attacks had had a very negative effect on all the villagers. No one felt safe. Since that morning, the Gauls had been getting more and more on edge. They didn't know when and if Mastix would strike again; they didn't know whether Getafix's spell would hold; they didn't know anything. And there is nothing quite so frightening as the unknown.

Getafix was about to answer, when, all at once, he pressed a hand to his head with a wince. He staggered a little, but Obelix steadied him with one of his large, sturdy hands. The three Gauls carefully helped their druid onto the stool, where he could sit without fear of falling. Obelix didn't let go until he was sure Getafix had sufficiently regained his balance.

"Thank you," the druid sighed, running a tired hand down his face. Returning his fatigued gaze back to the Chieftain, he spoke in a strained voice. "To answer your question, Vatalstitistix; yes, I _know_ Mastix will break through." He pinched the bridge of his nose with a grimice. "He's already working to overcome it; which explains my sudden headache."

Impedimenta stared at him in shock. "You mean, what happened to you just now was because of _him_?!"

"Shh! Not so loud," Obelix shushed her, crooking a thumb in Asterix's direction.

The Chief's wife lowered her voice and continued, though just as ardently. "You can _feel_ him?!"

"In a manner of speaking; yes."

"But how is that possible?" Vitalstitistix asked apprehensively.

Again, Getafix sighed. "The Neutralizing Spell isn't like a lot of other spells I've developed over the years. Most spells can be cast and left to stand alone; but not this one. It has to be constantly held in place by what is called an anchor, or a person to which it is connected. That said person must control and maintain it, otherwise it will collapse."

Obelix looked at the druid worriedly. "Does it...hurt you?"

"Nothing more serious than a little dizziness and a sore head; at least, as far as pain goes." Getafix hesitated. "But it is tiring...and draining. It's like carrying a heavy weight, with someone repeatedly trying to push against it. Eventually, your arms can't hold the weight anymore. Mastix _will_ get through, it's just a question of what will weaken first; the spell, or me."

"But that would mean Mastix could attack us again!" Obelix cried, forgetting to lower his voice. "He could attack _Asterix_ again!"

"I know. That's why I can't let the spell drop. Until we come up with a better defense against Mastix's powers, I'm afraid I'll have to keep regulating the Neutralizing Spell."

A grim silence fell over the three Gauls gathered under the druid's roof. No matter how they looked at it, things were very bleak. No matter what they did, every option was extremely unfavorable. If they didn't keep the Neutralizing Spell monitored, it would collapse, and they would be at the mercy of Mastix's cruel intentions. But if they kept it up, Getafix would grow weaker and weaker until the wall collapsed anyway. They were just prolonging the inevitable. Mastix was going to get in, and, at the moment, they had no other way to stop him. It was worthy of panic, but, oddly enough, they found themselves eerily calm.

"Does Asterix know?" Impedimenta asked softly. She knew the small warrior would never stand for someone else suffering for his sake. Which was essentially what Getafix was doing. Though he wasn't in any physical pain, it was obviously depleting the druid's strength. He was pale, and had dark circles forming beneath his eyes. His movements were slow, and, whenever he spoke, his voice sounded weary and strained.

"No, I haven't told him. I can't imagine that would help our situation in the least. And I suggest we refrain from telling the others either. The last thing we need is for everyone to panic." The others nodded in agreement. "Now," Getafix finished, "I think it would be prudent if you all got some rest."

"What about you?" the Chief asked. He didn't like the look of their druid either. It was obvious that, of the three of them, Getafix was in the most need of rest. But, for some reason, Vitalstitistix wasn't surprised by the druid's answer.

"I will be staying up. If I were to fall asleep, the Neutralizing Spell would more than likely collapse. No, I cannot sleep tonight."

Vitalstitistix noted that Getafix left out the fact that 'tonight' wouldn't be the only night. If what the druid spoke was true, Getafix would have to stay awake until another solution to their problem could be found; and that was indefinite. Going without sleep would not go well with a man of such advanced years, even if the druid often had more energy than all of them combined. It was an unpleasant prospect, but one that couldn't be avoided.

"I'll stay awake with you," Obelix stated determinedly.

"Oh, Obelix, you do not have to do-"

"I want to." Obelix glanced toward the cot in the corner of the cottage that held his best friend. "I'll help you care for Asterix." His voice was stern and serious, and Getafix realized that the big Gaul had made up his mind. It would be useless to argue.

"Very well," the druid nodded sympathetically. He turned to the Chief and his wife. "You two go to bed. We'll meet to discuss the situation in the morning. Often that which seems impossible when we are tired, yields hope when we are renewed by sleep." Again, he left out the fact that he'd be getting none himself.

Hesitantly, Vitalstitistix and Impedimenta wished them a good night, saying that they'd stop over at Asterix's hut to check on Dogmatix. The pup had spent much of the day alone and Obelix was worried. The Chief and his wife turned and left, leaving Getafix and Obelix alone. The hut seemed so empty with them gone, even with Obelix's mighty size taking up a considerable amount of space.

"Things are going pretty badly, aren't they, Getafix?" the menhir deliveryman remarked forlornly.

The druid gave Obelix a sad, fond smile. "There are times when our situations seem darkest. But we need to hold on to hope, Obelix. Never forget that. We will get through this.'' He pushed himself up from his stool with renewed purpose. "Now, let's see what we can find to entertain ourselves. It's going to be a long night..."


	15. Change of Focus

Obelix awakened with a jolt, blinking blearily. He hadn't meant to fall asleep, but he had been so tired that his eyes had just refused to stay open. The day before had been so terribly draining on him, what with all the worrying of which he had been a part. He didn't even remember drifting off. His neck and back felt a little stiff, due to the rather unnatural position he was sitting in; propped up on the little stool with his legs sprawled out in front of him and his chin resting on his chest. It was a mystery how he had managed to stay there all night without toppling to the floor, though he was very happy that he had not. He didn't want to damage the floor. With a yawn, he shifted his weight to a more upright and comfortable position.

For a moment, Obelix didn't even consider the fact that he wasn't in his own hut. He didn't even find it odd that he had spent the night sitting on a stool. He just excepted it, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. That is, until he began to wake up more fully. Gazing about him with drowsy eyes, he began to take notice of the room around him. Sunlight was streaming through the window; golden beams promising yet another beautiful, though probably hot, day. Even the air smelled warm; like grass and fresh morning dew. It filled the cottage, making it look particularly welcome and cheery. Obelix began to wake up a tab bit more. There were all kinds of dried herbs and branches hanging from the ceiling, leaving small crumbs of leaves and wrinkled berries on the floor beneath them. _Hmmm. Don't remember those being there._ Over the fireplace stood a large cauldron, filled with some bubbling brew that didn't look as appetizing as it smelled. _Since when do I make breakfast in a cauldron?_ It took Obelix another full second before the truth resurfaced in his mind. _I'm in Getafix's hut!..._ _Oh no!..._ _Getafix!_

Jumping up from his seat in panic, Obelix stood up and immersed his head in a very large, thick bundle of what looked like mistletoe, hanging from the rafters. He fought to get away from it, cursing his own stupidity in letting himself fall asleep, leaving the village druid alone to face a long, sleepless night. The whole reason he had stayed behind was to help the druid stay awake. If Getafix dozed off, Mastix could hurt Asterix again. Obelix had sat down, allowing himself to get comfortable, and he didn't remember anything after that. He had fallen asleep. He had failed Getafix and, he feared, Asterix. Why had he let himself do that, by Belenos?! He continued to try and disentangle himself from the dry, prickly plants when, all at once, he was stopped by a familiar voice.

"Obelix, I don't imagine you'd make a very good farmer," the voice chuckled. "Plants seem to dislike you, if this is any indication."

That one, laughing voice was enough to fill Obelix with an immense amount of relief. With a final shove, the big Gaul dislodged the mistletoe from his face and looked to the other side of the cottage where he had not yet chanced to look. Asterix sat propped up in bed, grinning at him in amusement at his friend's struggles. The little warrior looked much better this morning; appearing a good deal less tense and sick. The color had returned to his cheeks, and his eyes had regained their usual sparkle. He was sitting straight and strong, unlike the weak wilted posture he had displayed the night before. All in all, he looked perfectly normal again; much to Obelix's joy.

"Yes, and I doubt he would be much good at being a druid either," a second voice huffed.

Obelix turned slightly to the right, finding none other than Getafix, arms crossed and fixing him with a stern frown; but it was a sort of amused frown, as though he weren't truly angry. The menhir deliveryman glanced from the disgruntled druid to the badly ravaged plant hanging beside him, then back to the druid. "Sorry, Getafix,'' he mumbled guiltily. And in those two miserable words, it was obvious he wasn't just apologizing for the herbs. He felt really upset that he had fallen asleep during the night, leaving Getafix to carry on alone. Even though everything seemed all good and well, Obelix couldn't shake that unpleasant 'what if' feeling. _What if_ it hadn't been alright. _What if_ Getafix had dozed off. _What if_ the spell had collapsed... _What if_ Mastix had hurt Asterix again. There were so many possible disasters that could have resulted from his mistake, that it frightened him even more. But he pushed the feelings down, knowing that they _had't_ happened, and for that he was very thankful.

Getafix's frown turned into an understanding smile. He stepped forward and lay a gently, comforting hand on Obelix's uninjured arm. "It's alright, Obelix. No harm done." He gave the arm a final pat, to finalize that that was that. There was no reason to worry about it anymore; what had happened couldn't be changed. Nothing bad had come of it, and Obelix had learned a valuable lesson.

Asterix watched the exchange between his two friends with interest. It was odd, to say the least. Obelix looked uncommonly nervous; fidgety and restless, while Getafix seemed unnaturally calm. His movements were slow; tired; careful; as if every ounce of energy he used was valuable. Of course, Asterix knew both his friends' conditions could easily be explained by yesterday's events. He was sure that they were just as shaken about the whole thing as he was; which was pretty bad. He still didn't want to dwell on it. It was a terrible, black memory that he could barely wait to see fade. But, Asterix _was_ feeling better, and he refused to cringe back from Mastix's power, no matter how much the dark druid had hurt him. Not while he still had a breath in his body. He'd keep fighting. Mastix would never get what he wanted.

Obelix's face returned to its usual, cheerful expression as the big Gaul turned his eyes to his friend once more. He came forward, a little quicker than he meant to, and bumped against the bed in his excitement, causing it to shift, Asterix and all. "Asterix, how are you feeling?" He twiddled his fingers in front of him with just a hint of anxiety. It was obvious that Asterix was doing far better, but Obelix wanted to hear his friend say it himself. Even more, he wanted to hear Getafix say it. While Asterix often downplayed his condition, Getafix would give him the firm, solid truth no matter what.

Asterix shifted a bit under the covers, feeling uncomfortable now that the conversation had turned to him. He gave Obelix as reassuring a smile as he could muster. "Much better. It's amazing what a good night's rest can do. But now I'm ready to get up and see what we can do against Mastix." He looked sharply to Getafix, as if daring the druid to say otherwise.

Getafix didn't look like he completely approved of the idea, but he complied hesitantly. There was no use in arguing with Asterix when he was truly determined; and besides, they really could use the blond Gaul's help in finding a solution to the current problem. "I see no reason to keep you in bed. Though, if you don't mind, I'd like to give you a quick once over before you do anything."

Asterix gave a nod, throwing the sheets off of his legs and positioning himself on the edge of the cot. He was eager to get back on his feet, never having been one to stay still for very long. And with this particular threat, which he had experienced first hand, the sooner they came up with a way to deal with Mastix the better. Sitting around made him feel increasingly anxious; like time was slipping away. Every moment might count. Every second.

The druid came closer, taking Asterix's wrist as he sat on the bed to check the Gaul's pulse. Getafix frowned when he found it to be a little faster than it should to be. Of course, that was more than likely caused by stress; and Getafix _knew_ Asterix was _very_ stressed. He could see it in the smaller Gaul's stance; the way that he sat, stiff and erect, alert to a fault. But Getafix understood that. Asterix had a right to be tense, and no amount of herbs and potions could fix that. They both knew the cure; Asterix had to try and stop Mastix. Until then, the blond Gaul would feel as though a weight were resting on his shoulders.

Getafix quickly finished checking his friend over; finding nothing else out of the ordinary. Nothing out of the ordinary, under the current circumstances. The little Gaul's arms were still covered with those dreadful bruises, and Getafix found it disturbing to see that they were still so dark and sore. Each time he accidentally bumped against him, Asterix would flinch slightly at the impact. The druid's own contusions had faded a good deal since the morning before, again attesting to how much harsher Mastix had been with Asterix. It would be a while before those dark shadows of Asterix's ordeal faded away. Until then, they were a grim reminder.

"Am I free to go?" Asterix asked, the slightest amount of impatience audible in his voice. He felt they were wasting valuable time, though he didn't have a clue as to what could be done. What he did know was that he had to do _something_. If for any reason, for his own ease of mind. Sitting around in fear had never done an ounce of good to anyone. It was time to act.

"I suppose," Getafix said reluctantly. He still would have preferred Asterix rest a little longer, maybe even another day, but the druid knew that would never be possible. The blond Gaul had a job to do, and nothing, not even a friend, could keep him from it. "Just...be careful."

Asterix gave Getafix a reassuring smile. "I will." He eased himself down from the bed, finding himself a little more unsteady on his feet than he was expecting. His body was still aching, due to the amount of pain and strain he had endured. He never realized just how strong magic could be, or how dangerous when in the wrong hands. The first attack had practically crushed him; and the second had felt as though he were being ripped apart. He knew, even without being told, that he was really quite lucky that he hadn't walked away with more serious an injury.

Obelix stretched out a hand to steady his friend when Asterix wobbled a bit on his feet. He was glad that the little Gaul was doing better, but he wasn't quite convinced that Asterix should be jumping right back into action so soon. He still seemed tired. Nothing compared to the day before, but unsettling nonetheless. But Obelix knew that wouldn't stop Asterix. Not when the smaller Gaul had made up his mind. So the big Gaul decided that he'd keep careful watch over his friend, and protect him the best he could; just like he always did, and Asterix had always done for him.

Asterix regained his balance quickly, giving Obelix a grateful glance. He tried to hide the fact that he was feeling just a little bit dizzy, and instead straightened his black, sleeveless tunic and looked about for his helmet. He always felt so bare without it, and it had actually bothered him not feeling it weighing down on his head. He found it on a small table beside the cot and quickly placed it back where it belonged. "Well, I guess we should see how the others are doing," he advised. "Perhaps then we can figure out what to do about Mastix."

Getafix nodded in agreement. "I do believe that would be prudent."

"They must be worried," Obelix added. Toutatis knew _he_ had been.

Asterix started for the door, both friends following closely, should the short Gaul need their help. But Asterix seemed to have found his footing once more. "Alright," he announced purposefully, "Let's go find Chief Vitalstitistix."

* * *

Cacofonix stood, quietly strumming his lyre, up atop the wall parapets. This wasn't his usual choice of atmosphere; on the contrary, he much preferred the breathtaking view from his tree hut. It often inspired him; helped him to produce the most angelic ballads and sonnets, at least in his own ears, that were, unfortunately, very much misunderstood and unappreciated by the other Gauls. They always teased him, or threatened him to go someplace else, claiming that his voice was more than they could stand. Cacofonix couldn't understand what was so overpowering about his singing; and insisted that it was their bad taste in music that was the true problem. It was normally just a part of the village life. He would wake up, sing, get yelled at or thumped, and then go off someplace else to play. But this morning had proved to be especially unkind to him, and all in the form of one very grouchy fishmonger.

The bard found it hard to believe that, in all the chaos that had taken place since the day before, Unhygenix still found time and reason to be mad at him. The fishmonger, who, due to the fact that his cottage had a rather large hole in its roof, had been forced to spend the night at Fulliautomatix's cottage. Unhygenix didn't have a large family, per say; but add him, a wife and two sons to the blacksmith, _his_ wife, and _his_ son and daughter and, well...it had been a very long, cramped, and miserable night for all of them. And, to top it off, Mrs. Fulliautomatix was a terrible snorer. In short, Unhygenix had awakened in a very foul mood and had resolved to place all the blame of his current misfortune on Cacofonix's clumsy mistake.

The bard wasn't usually bothered by the other Gauls' criticism and harassment; letting it simply roll off his back and continuing in his daily activities as usual. But this was getting ridiculous. Unhygenix was hounding him to the point where Cacofonix simply couldn't calmly handle it any longer. It was wearing on him, even if it didn't show, and the bard began seeking a place to get away from his less-than-agreeable companion. There was only so much a musically talented person could take, after all. So, with a huff and a twirl of his red cape, Cacofonix had retreated to the only place he was certain to be left alone; the village wall parapets.

The walls were currently deserted for two reasons, one being that there was no fear of Roman invasion at the moment. The heat of the summer was still too much for the unmotivated troops of the surrounding camps, and there was no need to guard against them. No trouble would be coming from the Romans for quite some time. The second, as well as the most prominent reason for the walls to be deserted, was that the Gauls were too frightened to go anywhere near outside the village. Getafix had made it very clear that as long as the villagers stayed within the walls, they would be safe from Mastix's power. If they left the protection of the druid's Neutralizing Spell, there would be nothing to guard them, and who knew what might happen. And so, even though the walls were still well within those parameters, the Gauls had silently and unanimously decided that they would give it a wide birth. All, of course, except for Cacofonix.

The bard was known for seeking out quiet places, whether because he liked being alone or because he had no choice in the matter. Most likely a bit of both. The wall made a practical option, seeing as the forest was strictly off limits at this time. He snuck away as quietly as he could from the others, heading toward the front wall, which faced the woods and the summertime world beyond it. That way he might be inspired to compose a sonnet of the green leaves, or perhaps the swaying, dry grass.

He was quickly disappointed, however. Once standing on the wooden platform that adorned all along the inside of the village wall, Cacofonix found that he couldn't, for the life of him, compose a single thing. His mind just wouldn't calm down enough, what with the two attacks on Asterix, as well as Unhygenix's relentless persecution. It filled his thoughts, jumping back and forth between the two depressing subjects, officially sapping any will or passion to do anything even remotely enjoyable away from him. Too distraught to sing or play, but too nervous to return to the others just yet, the bard simply gave up trying to do anything productive and leaned forward against the wall. He let his eyes wander over the tranquil forest, taking in every leaf and twig in an aimless manner.

Cacofonix had terrific eyesight. When there was something to be seen, he was usually the first to spot it. Countless times in the past, from the height of his tree, he had spied many dangers or threats when no one else had been able to. Even Getafix was at a loss as to how that was possible; but it was. Cacofonix prided himself in his abnormally sharp vision, almost as much as he prided himself in his music and voice. It seemed to be the only talent that didn't get on the villagers' nerves, and was actually respected among them. It was something that he was able to use for the benefit of the village; a sort of occupation that he seemed to hold, even if it had never audibly been called such. It often gave them a slight upper hand against their enemies; when the bard might spot a patrol or spy lurking in the shadows. But, apparently, good eyesight did not amount to much where magic was concerned.

Cacofonix gasped in shock, taking an involuntary step backward as he dropped his lyre to the wooden deck. Down below, on the ground, in front of where the bard had been standing, about two meters from the wall, stood Mastix. He had seemed to appear out of thin air. One moment he hadn't been there, and the next we was. The dark druid was looking up at Cacofonix, eyes radiating a kind of merriment, but not a pleasant kind. The smile on his lips was filled with malice; as though he would happily cause the bard great agony were he given the chance. Those eyes; that strange mixture of brown and black, pierced the distance between them, making it feel as if they were toe to toe, despite the good three meters from the top of the wall to the ground that separated them. They seemed to bore into Cacofonix, making him wonder for a moment if perhaps Mastix had broken through Getafix's spell. The dark orbs seemed to have frozen him; though, thankfully, not with magic, but with fear. Getafix's spell still held strong, but even that could not dim the pure evil that seemed to emanate from the dark druid.

"Well," Mastix smirked, enjoying the bard's obvious alarm, "I once again find myself in the presence of one of you little Gauls that my old colleague finds so important. My, you are a _thin_ one, aren't you." It was a statement, not a question; though, even if it had been, Cacofonix would not have answered it. It wasn't a relevant question; more of a taunt, meant to intimidate him. Mastix gazed up at the bard expectantly, but Cacofonix remained silent; visibly shaken from suddenly finding himself in conversation with such a frightening foe.

"I've come to speak with Getafix. I want you to get him and bring him here," Mastix continued. He appeared careless, as if it didn't matter whether the bard did what he asked or not. But something hidden deep within that voice promised terrible consequences should Cacofonix refuse to comply. "I have a... _deal_ for him to consider."

The bard didn't like the idea of that at all. Cacofonix didn't trust Mastix as far as he could throw the dark druid; which wouldn't be far at all in the least. Mastix was evil. He was a monster. He _had_ to be, after what he had done to Asterix. Whatever _deal_ he had planned, Cacofonix knew it would be to Mastix's benefit, not theirs. The bard hesitated as to what to do. Should he just walk away and ignore the man's demand, or should he run and get Getafix, like Mastix wanted?

"That is your cue, bard," Mastix growled impatiently, "Do you need a clearer one? GO!"

The loud, angry shout made up the bard's mind. Cacofonix scrambled backwards, nearly missing the ladder in his haste to get away. He didn't even stop to pick up his lyre, which still rested on the platform where he had dropped it. Once his feet hit solid earth again, he was off like a shot; the mocking laughter of Mastix ringing out from behind the wall. All the bard could think of was just how bad this could effect things. With the enemy right outside their gates, what were they going to do?

* * *

The villagers were all very relieved to see Asterix up and about. Practically from the moment the warrior had stuck his toe out the door of Getafix's hut they had swarmed him, asking how he was feeling and if he needed anything. They all wanted to reassure themselves, and him, that the dangers of yesterday had passed; even though they hadn't. Trouble was stirring all around them, like a dark, ominous fog. But the Gauls would take the small joy of Asterix's recovery while it lasted. For them, it was one small bit of sunshine before the unavoidable, oncoming storm that was gathering. They'd be thankful for what they had now, and worry about the rest afterword.

Asterix happily excepted their warm welcome, glad to be among them once more. For some reason, even though they had all been there the day before, Asterix had felt very much alone. Which was odd, since he had been the center of everyone's attention, even Mastix's. But he had felt trapped, especially in Getafix's cottage, where he had found himself confined twice in a single day. He had been so guilty and shocked by all that had transpired, he had locked himself up inside. Maybe it wasn't so much that he had felt alone, but that he had separated himself mentally and emotionally to the point where it was very nearly the same thing. Either way, he was very glad to be back on his own two feet. Even if they were up against a terrible new foe, at least they'd face him together.

"Dogmatix!" Obelix cried with joy as his pet ran up to him from between the legs of the villagers. The big Gaul bent down to lift the tiny pup to his face, which Dogmatix happily washed in a series of wet, enthusiastic licks. It had been nearly a day and a night since the two had seen each other; an uncomfortably long time in their opinion.

Dogmatix seemed to check his master over, frowning in his own little way as he spotted the bandage wrapped around Obelix's arm. The pup was confused, as well as concerned, as to what had happened all the day before. He had been left behind in Asterix's hut since yesterday morning, and, though he had not been able to see anything, he had felt increasingly uneasy. The door to Asterix's hut had been shut, and he had been unable to escape the cottage, but he could sense the threatening feeling that had descended over the village. As the day had progressed, Dogmatix had sensed a lot of different emotions; none of which were good. Fear; anxiety; confusion; anger...It had been one giant mixing pot of emotions. But everything seemed fine now...at least relatively so.

"It's good to see you out of that bed, Asterix," Vitalstitistix greeted, making his way through the small gathering atop his shield. He wobbled to and fro, years of practice being the only thing keeping him from toppling off his perch. His shield bearers struggled under the Chief's weight, but, beside the occasional grunt, remained silent as they shuffled around, trying to compensate for any movements their leader made above them.

Asterix smiled warmly. He had a rather fuzzy memory of the Chieftain helping to care for him the night before, though whether it was accurate, Asterix couldn't tell. "It's good to be seen." His expression fell a little. "I just wish it were under happier circumstances." A sort of depressive cloud fell over them all at him words; reminding them that the danger was still very near at hand.

"What are we going to do?" Impedimenta murmured in a small voice. From her point of view, things were looking pretty hopeless; a point of view they all unwittingly shared.

"First and foremost," Getafix advised, "We must be certain that Mastix does not get any Magic Potion." Several Gauls nodded in unison, agreeing wholeheartedly.

"But we haven't _got_ any," Unhygenix said crankily. He looked ruffled and bad tempered. Most of the other Gauls had sensed his foul mood this particular morning, and had given the fishmonger a wide birth; knowing that their bard hadn't been as lucky. "What we _did_ have, we dumped out."

Getafix agreed. "It is true we no longer have any in physical form, but I do have it up here." He tapped a finger to his forehead. "And Mastix won't give up until he is either defeated, or until he gets what he wants. We've already seen what he is willing to do to reach that goal, and I'm afraid that it may only get worse if we don't figure something out."

Mrs. Geriatrix shook her head sadly. "I just can't imagine how a man can be so...so cruel; just to get a little Magic Potion...What will it do for him? It can only gain him fear and hatred from those he...he hurts." The others gave mumbles of agreement. Beyond a doubt, they certainly felt no less for the man, especially after what he had done to their warrior.

"Mastix, like so many men, believes that power is the answer to all his problems," their druid answered. "That finally reaching his goal, no matter how hurtful or devastating it may be for others, will somehow bring him satisfaction. And, as is often the case, he will find that _having_ is not so pleasing a thing, after all, as _wanting_.*"

"So how do we go about it?" Fulliautomatix blurted out. He was a man of action, and all this talk was making him impatient. He wished with all his heart that they could just charge out and fight Mastix; sending him back to whatever rock he had crawled out from under; but even the blacksmith knew it wasn't that simple. The stinging burns on his tightly wrapped hands testified to that. This magic was unlike anything they had ever dealt with before; even Getafix was struggling to keep Mastix out. What could a village full of normal, everyday Gauls do against such power? For that was exactly what they were without the Magic Potion. Normal.

Getafix looked thoughtful. "Well, that all depends on Mastix's next move. You see, we-"

"Getafix!"

The villagers turned, some jumping to the side as Cacofonix came bolting through their midst, feet pounding against the earth and his cape fluttering out behind him. The bard came to a sudden halt right in front of the druid, bending over and gripping his knees as he tried to regain his heaving breath. He looked terribly shaken; glancing over his shoulder every moment or so as if he were afraid of being pursued. His nervous attitude was not lost on the other Gauls, who gathered around him and encouraged him to slow down and catch his breath. Though no one could ever say that the bard was a particularly calm individual, it took a lot for him to get _this_ upset. It caught the villagers' attention immediately. Even Unhygenix became concerned, his anger forgotten as Cacofonix's frightened voice broke the silence.

"It's Mastix! He's outside the gate!"

It was like a slap in the face to them all. The Gauls stood shocked for a moment, letting the bard's words sink in, before, all at once, they began flooding Cacofonix with questions. They crowded in, making the bard feel terribly trapped, not knowing who he should answer first in the overwhelming sea of questions. They all seemed to be in his face at once, demanding, inquiring, and speculating.

"Are you sure?"

"What does he want?"

"Did he mention the Magic Potion?"

"What did he say?"

"Did he get inside the village?!"

"What's happening?"

" _Did he hurt you_?"

This last question came from Getafix and silenced all the others. The Gauls all stopped dead, the words fading to soundless whispers. In their fear of the dark druid's presence, they hadn't given a thought to making sure _Cacofonix_ was alright. They all turned their attention back to the bard, expressions of guilt and worry pasted on their faces. Stepping back, they gave their friend some space as Getafix stepped worriedly forward.

Cacofonix blinked at the question, not having expected it. It wasn't very often that anyone worried over his well being. Oh, he knew they cared for him; but it seemed so rare that they showed it. Maybe that was because he rarely did anything or had anything happen to him that prompted worry. For the most part, the bard stayed within the walls of the village. He stuck to his hut, or walking along the various paths inside the walls. Once in a while he'd take a stroll in the forest, but that was very seldom. So, of all the Gauls, he was the least likely to be under anyone's concern. Now, all at once, he found himself at the very center of their concentration. They all looked at him in a half frightened-half ashamed way; as if they were already convinced he _had_ been hurt, and they had been unable to stop it. Getafix too was looking at him with concern, obviously trying to discern whether he had received any injuries or not. Cacofonix couldn't help feeling unnerved by the fact that Getafix was so uncertain of the Neutralizing Spell. Wasn't Getafix sure the spell covered all of the village, including the parapets?

"No," Cacofonix uttered uncomfortably, stepping back when the druid reached out to touch him. They didn't have time for this. "But I was up on the wall and-"

"Up on the wall?!" Unhygenix cried, stomping forward threateningly. "By Belonos, what were you doing up there?!" He sounded and looked quite angry, though that was only a mask to hide his true alarm. That morning he had very nearly dragged the bard out of bed, yelled at him for dropping that confounded table through his roof, and effectively chased Cacofonix away, not caring where the minstrel ended up going. Only he did care; now. He never would have thought the bard would go to the gates, though it was making more sense with every passing moment. But still he found it hard to express any other emotion other than anger, even when what he was truly feeling was fear, both for his friend and the rest of the village.

The bard shrank back slightly at the fishmonger's outburst. "I-I went up there to sing...But then Mastix showed up. He said that h-he wanted to speak with Getafix." Cacofonix turned to the druid. "He says he has some sort of deal he wants to tell you about."

Asterix gave Getafix a meaningful look. "You said we should wait for Mastix's next move..."

"Yes, and he has made it." Getafix braced himself mentally. This wasn't going to be pleasant. "Now, it is our turn."

"You're not going to go talk with that...that _man_ , are you?!" Impedimenta squeaked. The very thought frightened her far more than she would ever admit. Even though Getafix's spell protected them at the moment, she was one of the few who knew just how fragile that security really was. All Mastix had to do was try long and hard enough, and he would break through. The Chief's wife gazed about her, letting her eyes wander over the men, the women, and the children. She hated the idea of discussing anything with Mastix, but deep down she knew it was all they could do. Some kind of plan was better than no plan.

"If I speak with him, he may unwittingly give us a better understanding of how to defend against him," the druid answered quickly. "It's not the best idea, I'll admit; but it is all we have to work with at the moment." Getafix started in the direction of the wall, but Asterix caught his wrist.

"You _are not_ going to face him alone. Not again." He smiled. "I'm going with you."

"Me too," Obelix chimed in resolutely, still holding Dogmatix in the palm of his hand.

Several other voices sprang up from the crowd, until all the men had volunteered, and even a few of the women. The children, of course, were eager to help as well, but mostly because they didn't understand just how dire the situation truly was. They had all seen Mastix's attack on Asterix the afternoon before, but they had yet to connect it to the dark druid lurking outside their gates.

"It seems," Vitalstitistix chuckled, "That we will _all_ be going up to meet this terrible villain; together. It's about time we met him face to face." He paused before adding, "And this time he does't have the upper hand."

Getafix smiled to himself. These Gauls never ceased to amaze him. They were filled with such courage and loyalty; it was beyond anything he had ever seen, both in the wide world or the Carnutes. Druids, while wise and friendly folk, were not accustomed to facing danger as a group. Every man attended to his own passions and problems. Once in a while, they would meet to discuss things, but nothing was hardly ever done collectively. That was part of why it had been so disastrous the last time Mastix had been in the Carnutes. Here, in this small, Gaulish village, beat the hearts of the most noble people Getafix could think of, or had ever even _heard_ of. There was no one the druid would rather have by his side in a time such as this.

"Very well," he said, a little reluctantly, "But let's be careful. Just because I can block his magic for the moment, doesn't mean Mastix is no longer a threat. He is a very cunning fellow, and creative when it comes to getting his way."

* * *

"Ah, Getafix. I was beginning to think you weren't coming." Mastix gazed up at the Gauls lining the parapet with visible contempt. His eyes glistened with an unsteady tint of hatred and amusement; glee and malice. Even though he stood far below the villagers, his attitude and stance made it feel as if it were he who was the taller; looking down on them as if they were nothing more than insects crawling in the grass at his feet. The dark druid fixed his eyes back on Getafix, who stood in the very center; Asterix and Obelix flanking him. "I see you've gathered the masses. You always did have a sort of magnetism for the foolish and weak-minded."

Getafix bristled at the insult, which wasn't just aimed at him. All around him he felt the Gauls stiffen; also offended. It would have been easy to lose his temper here, but Getafix knew that Mastix was just trying to make him do just that. He was trying to unbalance him by throwing off his emotions. Getafix decided to do his best to ignore the gibe, but it wasn't easy. "What do you want Mastix?" he demanded firmly. He had to fight to keep himself from breaking eye contact with the villain. Those terrible eyes radiated such intense evil. "Our bard says you told him to inform me that you wanted to make a deal. If it has to do with the Magic Potion, you can leave right now. We have none, and even if we did we would't give it to you."

Mastix gave a huff, rolling his eyes in annoyance. "Why should I seek a lesser power when a greater one is within my reach?"

"What do you mean?" Getafix was hardly able to keep the confusion from his voice. It just didn't make sense. Mastix had demanded the Magic Potion, threatening both his and Asterix's life, only a day before. And now he insisted that he no longer wanted it? It didn't add up. Of course, it could always be a trap; a tactic to get them off their guard. Getafix wasn't sure, but he decided to play along for the moment. Perhaps then they could figure Mastix out. "There is no greater power here other than the Magic Potion, and I told you that-"

"Could it be that you do not know?" Mastix interrupted with a hearty laugh. It echoed all through the forest, sending a chill up the spines of all those present. "Oh, this is more entertaining than I ever imagined it would be!" he chuckled cruelly, before his voice sank into a taunting tone. "I used to lie awake at night, thinking of ways of getting back at you and those other idiots in the Carnutes. Your potion would have given me a chance against their combined powers, but now...now I shall flatten them with a single blow! Nothing will be able to stop me!"

"You spoke of a deal, Mastix," Getafix snapped, "Make it, and leave."

"Very well. If you insist on being so inhospitable; here is my deal. I swear to leave this village unscathed; its people unharmed, if you hand over to me that which I want. Hand over to me..." He shifted his dark eyes from Getafix to Asterix with a hostile grin. "...Your little warrior."

Asterix took an involuntary step back. Shock registered in his expression; his eyes locked with those of the dark druid. Everything else seemed to fade from his attention, even though he was vaguely aware that his friends had immediately reacted. Asterix felt himself gently pulled back from the wall by several pairs of hands, being placed firmly behind the other Gauls. They were all clearly frightened that Mastix might snatch him away right then and there, despite the Neutralizing Spell. A number of the more vocal villagers shouted above the general confusion, their voices filled with anger and determination.

"What?!"

"Not on your life!"

"You can't have him!"

"Buzz off!"

Getafix glared down at his former colleague with a rare level of passionate conviction. "It seems you have your answer. Now leave!"

Mastix's expression became livid. The smirk that had lingered about his lips formed a furious scowl as he shot out a hand to point a warning finger at the Gaulish druid. "Getafix, you fool! You cannot win against me! I will get what I seek! You cannot protect him forever! You're spell will eventually weaken, then I shall take what I want, and leave this place in desolation! You cannot defy me and live!"

"Than I shall die trying! Go!"

The dark druid glared up at them as if his very gaze were enough to burn them to ashes. Hatred glowed in those dark eyes, making them all the more frightening. He settled his glare on Asterix in a pointedly hostile manner, before Mastix threw his hands up above his head, surrounding himself once more with that sickening, green mist. A moment later, he was gone; disappeared.

The Gauls all stood in shock for several seconds, processing everything that had just transpired. It seemed to hold them immobile, before all at once the deafening quiet was broken by Obelix's anxious cry.

"Getafix! Why does he want Asterix?!"

Chaos broke out on the parapets, as everyone snapped back to reality. Their worried voices rose in pitch as they tried to determine the reason for Mastix's demand. They turned to one another, asking questions, making exclamations, a falling into a general panic. Getafix covered his ears and winced at the ascending volume. He was just as confused and concerned as they were, but the druid knew they needed to keep calm, otherwise his anxiety might cause an unpleasant side effect that they just couldn't afford at the moment.

"Stop!" Getafix shouted, catching their attention with the honest desperation in his tone. They quieted, turning and looking to him with wide, frightened eyes. "Please, stop," the druid continued more softly, but no less insistently. "If you break my concentration, the Neutralizing Spell could collapse. Then there would be nothing to protect us from Mastix." He took in their terrified expressions a little guiltily. "I can hold it just fine for now, but we cannot take the chance. We need to keep calm. Understand?"

They all nodded.

"But it doesn't make any sense," Asterix spoke up, trying to gently pry away the hands that held him. He understood that they were only trying to shield him, but he knew from experience that, if Mastix attacked, it would take much more to save him than the protective grips of his friends. They would only be in the dark druid's way, and that would only harm them as well. Besides, their hold on his arms pressed against the bruises that resided there, causing them to ache. "What would he want with me?" he asked.

Getafix rested a hand on the warrior's shoulder, looking truly lost. "I'm...I'm not sure, Asterix." His expression became more reassuring. "But be certain that I will find out." Looking up and catching the Chief's gaze, the druid suggested that they should meet and discuss all that has happened. "Vitalstitistix, is your hut available?"

"It is."

"Then lets gather there. All of us. It isn't safe to separate anymore."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *This is actually a quote from the TV series Star Trek (of which I am a huge fan). I got a request from one of my readers asking me to somehow insert a quote from Spock, one of the main characters from the show. Leonard Nimoy, who played Spock, to commemorate his death. This quote actually fit in with my story, so I decided to honor Nimoy by doing as my reader suggested. The quote is not exact, since it had to sound more like Getafix than Spock. Here is the actual quote:
> 
> "After a time, you may find that having is not so pleasing a thing, after all, as wanting. It is not logical, but it is often true." - Spock (Amok Time)


	16. Separating

Only moments after Mastix had vanished into the surrounding forest, the clear, summer sky began to darken. It started as a threatening gray, but quickly gathered into banks of unnatural black. Raindrops began to fall around the Gauls, pattering into the light, dry dust of the village soil. It caused a bit of a panic among the Gauls at first. The storm was so unexpected; so sudden, that there was no doubt in anybody's mind that it had been created by Mastix. Though the magical aspects of the dark druid's power could not penetrate the village, the physical aspects could. The rain increased in severity as the Gauls hurriedly made there way down from the parapets and made a dash for the Chieftain's hut. They all knew why Getafix had chosen Vitalstitistix's cottage as their meeting place. It was the only hut large enough to shelter all the villagers in one place comfortably. That way they would be close together, and would be able to watch out for one another.

They all arrived at the hut at relatively the same time. By then it was pouring; the rain cold and soaking into their clothes to their skin underneath. The children were ushered in first, followed by the women. The men refused to enter until they were certain that everyone was safe, then went inside themselves. As the last villager made his way indoors, a tremendous clap of thunder shattered the silence, rumbling the very ground beneath their feet. The Gauls gasped, covering their ears in an effort to block out the painfully loud sound. The children griped their parents in fear; a few of the youngest ones bursting into tears.

Getafix winced as he struggled to keep his concentration fixed on the Neutralizing Spell. All the noise was making it very difficult, as well as the fact that the Gaulish druid's mind was filling with distracting images and frightening memories. This storm was not all that unlike the one Mastix had ravaged on the Carnutes, thirty-five years before. Getafix remembered the traumatic event like it was yesterday. He remembered the fear; the destruction; the confusion; everything he had tried so hard to forget. Now, they had resurfaced, crashing against his soul like waves against a rocky shore. The faces of his frightened friends only increased the panic that continually tried to climb into his thoughts. He had to fight to keep his emotions in check. If he got too upset, the spell could, and probably would, collapse. He was too tired to deal with it all properly. The storm was making it all the harder, and Getafix was certain that Mastix had sent it for that very purpose; to cause him to falter. But Getafix managed to hold on. It took a lot, but he managed it. Turning his back on the outdoors, he set his mind to those at hand.

Impedimenta was assisting the other women in calming the children, while Asterix led the men in shoring up the windows and the door. A terrible wind had begun to blow in from the sea, carrying a bitter cold that was more common for the rains of late autumn than the hot days of summer. All the Gauls were shivering; the rain having drenched them to the skin.

Getafix took notice of this, and decided that they needed a means to get warm and dry. With Impedimenta and Vitalstitistix's permission, Getafix had Fulliautomatix help him remove the red dividing curtain that separated the Chief's council 'room' from the rest of the cottage. It was really only one room after all, and removing the divider would not only make more space, but would make it so the heat from the fireplace beyond the curtain spread to all corners of the hut. Luckily, the Chief and his wife still had a good amount of firewood stored indoors, out of the rain, and before long there was a roaring fire blazing and warming them all. It felt odd trying to produce so much heat during the summer, but the air had become almost frigid. Without the comforting flames, one might have been able to see one's own breath. Outside it was as dark as night, despite the fact that it was only late morning. This was no natural thunderstorm.

The children were set by the fire, being most at risk of becoming ill from the cold. They were supplied with a number of blankets, wrapped tightly in bundles within the glow of the fire. A few of the mothers managed to put together a hasty stew, nice and warm, and served it to all the other villagers. Once everyone had been fed and dried to at least a more tolerable comfort, the level of anxiety became a little more bearable. Soon after, the children began to drift off to sleep; worn out by all the excitement. Then, and only then, did the adults feel they could discuss all that had happened. The Gauls sat in the corner, with the exception of Getafix, who stood, talking quietly so as not to wake the slumbering youngsters. And they had a _lot_ to talk about.

"We are _not_ going to hand Asterix over to that...that _monster_!" Impedimenta declared angrily, even though no one present disagreed with her. She looked terribly frazzled. Her usually well-kept and braided hair had slipped from the entwined fashion, protruding in wet strands upon her shoulders and back. Her cheeks were rosy from the cold, and her eyes caught the firelight fiercely.

"Of course not, 'Pedimenta, My Dear" Vitalstitistix soothed carefully. His wife could have a nasty temper, a fact he had been unaware of when he had married the woman. But he did love her dearly, despite being a little afraid of her sometimes formidable wrath. But she knew better than to fear them giving Asterix to Mastix; his wife knew that well enough. No matter how dire their situation might become, they would never even dream of handing over one of their own. It was against their nature; against everything they believed in.

"Just let him try and take our warrior," Geriatrix growled. He waved his T-shaped cane over his head menacingly. "I'll beat the tar out of him!" Even though everyone, including the old man himself, knew that none of them could stand a chance against Mastix, the thought was what really counted. The words were very much appreciated. Geriatrix was the oldest among them. Sometimes they wondered it he even predated Getafix. They often forgot that he had been an adult even while they had been children. He had always been a pillar of wisdom in the society, even if he was a little senile at times. Beside him, his young wife fussed over the fact that his clothes were still damp.

"I just don't get it," Asterix muttered in confusion. "Why would he be after me? I have nothing; not even the Magic Potion." He looked up at Obelix, who sat beside him. The large Gaul had not left his side for a moment. Asterix knew his friend was worried. They all were.

"Are we sure he knows that?" Unhygenix wondered aloud. "I mean, what if he thinks Asterix still has his gourd of potion?"

Obelix frowned. "Mastix said he doesn't want the potion anymore," he reminded them. "So why would he want the gourd?" It seemed all so complicated to him. One minute Mastix wants this and the next Mastix wants that. And _that_ just so happened to be his best friend. In Obelix's mind, he didn't care whether the dark druid was really after Asterix or not. All he understood was that Asterix needed to be kept safe at all costs. Mastix had hurt him enough; and Obelix was determined to make sure it wouldn't happen again. The big Gaul scooted just a tab bit closer to his friend; guarding him.

"But the question is whether that's the truth or just a ruse to throw us off guard," Getafix grunted in agitation. He felt as if they were talking in circles.

"We seem to have a lot more questions than answers," a villager in the back chimed in. The others mumbled in agreement.

Cacofonix had been sitting quietly by the wall side, listening carefully. He had been running the situation through his mind over and over again, and there was still one thing that wouldn't leave him alone. Clearing his throat, he raised his voice to speak. "But he did sort of give us a clue." All the villagers turned there heads to look at him, and he almost wished he hadn't said anything.

"What do you mean?" Fulliautomatix inquired.

The bard shifted nervously, but voiced his thoughts despite his discomfort. It was odd how he didn't mind singing or arguing in front of others, but when it can to talking seriously he became so edgy. "He said that he was after a power greater than the Magic Potion. All we have to do then is figure out what that is, and how it's connected to Asterix. Surely you must have something even better than the potion, Getafix."

The druid shook his head sadly. "The Magic Potion is my greatest achievement. As far as I know, there is nothing in this village that would fit that description. Nor anywhere else."

"So we're back to where we started," Fulliautomatix grumbled in frustration, thumping his fists against his legs angrily. "Why does he want Asterix? Why not ask for _you_ , Getafix? You're more valuable to the fiend than he is." The blacksmith gave Asterix an apologetic look. "No offense."

"No, no; you're right," the blond warrior assured. "Getafix would be the more logical choice. He's a druid. He knows magic. He's the one only one here who's a threat to Mastix. So..."

Getafix sighed. "So why you and not me."

Asterix nodded.

The rest of Gauls shifted their eyes to the floor in front of them. They were beginning to think they weren't going to come up with anything. Mastix had them cornered. No matter what they did, the outcome always calculated out to be terribly unfavorable. Outside, lightening flashed, followed soon after by a loud clap of thunder. Thankfully, it wasn't as tremendous as the one before, but it still managed to startle the villagers terribly. It only added to the dark, depressing, and hopeless mood that seemed to have settled around them.

Getafix gazed into space, thinking deeply. What if Mastix really was just after Asterix? What did that mean? As far as the druid knew, Asterix was perfectly ordinary. In fact, as Gauls go, he was a little less. Without the potion, Asterix was one of the weaker villagers. Not because he lacked strength, but because of his size. Alone, he wasn't at all intimidating. He didn't even weigh that much. Getafix had seen perfectly average, everyday people lift the blond Gaul with a single hand. Though, of course, they had suffered when Obelix had found out. Asterix was small and short...Very much like his father. That thought made Getafix smile softly. His mind wandered back to his days when he had first come to the village. Things had been so simple then. He remembered all the years since that time. He had watched all these villagers grow from child to adult. He had seen them learn and mature, at least to a degree, and knew each of their personalities like the back of his hand. He could sometimes even predict what one would say and how one would answer.

But, out of all the Gauls, Asterix was special to Getafix. Asterix and Obelix. Not because he cared for them any more than the others, but because the druid himself had helped to bring them into the world. He remembered how small and precious they had been. He had been able to hold both at the same time, one in either arm. Oh, how he never would have guessed how large Obelix would one day be! The two had been born at the same time, which was definitely unusual. Could that be the reason for Mastix demanding them to hand over Asterix? Was there something somehow connected to that? No...That didn't make sense. Because that would mean that Mastix would want Obelix too. What ever his former colleague wanted in Asterix, it had to be something exclusive to the smaller Gaul. Something special.

All at once Getafix felt a memory resurface in his mind. It was faint, nearly forgotten in the years and years of being left in the far corner of his brain. It was as if it needed to be dusted off; carefully unwrinkled so that he could fully remember it. It was...a feeling...an emotion...when Asterix and Obelix had been born. He recalled it now. A terrible feeling of foreboding; danger. It had happened while he had been holding the two newborn infants. He had been certain at the time that it had emanated from one of them, though he hadn't been able to tell who. Could it have been Asterix? And did that feeling somehow relate to this new threat to the village? If so, that not only meant that Getafix had made the right decision in staying in the village, but that there was something very much special indeed about Asterix. Which brought back even more unpleasant memories, but also the very beginnings of an understanding. A possibility, that he hadn't considered; but also had no way of testing. For that he would need help. The druid opened his mouth to voice some of these thoughts to the others when, quite suddenly, he was overcome with an intense dizziness.

The villagers jumped, startled, when Getafix and Asterix suddenly gasped in unison, reeling back as if struck by an invisible force. The druid clutched his head as he swayed dangerously, while Asterix visibly stiffened, his breath quickening slightly. The Gauls sprang to their feet, fear evident in their expressions. They didn't need anyone to tell them what was happening. They knew it was Mastix. Several villagers reached out their hands to assist their two friends, but then remembered what had happened before and shrank back. They were just beginning to _really_ panic when, all at once, Getafix and Asterix seemed to break free of whatever held them. They tiredly slumped back against whatever they happened to be sitting or standing near; which, for Asterix, happened to be Obelix.

"Are you alright?!" the big Gaul exclaimed, gently clutching his friend with his large, rough hand. He glanced over the smaller Gaul, afraid of finding an injury, before looking down into Asterix's face, as if he would be able to get an answer to his question there.

Asterix nodded, a little weakly at first, but quickly regaining strength. "I-I'm alright. Just a little out of breath..." He eased himself up and looked over at their druid. "Getafix?"

"...I'm fine...But _none_ of us may be for very long."

"Why not?" Vitalstitistix asked nervously. He had a nasty feeling that Getafix's prediction about the spell might be rearing its ugly head. Ever since Getafix had told him of the side effects to the protection spell, he had felt as if it foreshadowed a certain unfavorable situation that was to sure arise. It seemed his worries were well founded.

"The Neutralizing Spell is weakening," the druid answered reluctantly. He really wished he had more encouraging news. "What just happened testifies to that. For a moment, our enemy broke through. Luckily, I was able to regulate the spell; strengthening it back up. But I have no idea how long it will hold."

"And Asterix?" Obelix spoke up uneasily, "What happened to him?"

"Mastix may want Asterix, but his magic is still focused on him. If my spell falls, it will be Asterix who suffers." Getafix sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He once again had a terrible headache and an intense desire to sleep. Thus far he had managed not to drop off, even after keeping awake all night long. He had even mixed a special, bitter-tasting brew, brown and thick, to help him stay conscious; but now, even that was beginning to lose effect. In fact, he felt more tired now than before he had drunk it. _I guess that brew still has a few bugs to work out._

"But that makes even less sense!" Unhygenix cried out. He crossed his arms over his chest, scowling in confusion. This whole business was getting more and more complicated with each passing moment.

Asterix stood up carefully with Obelix's help. He felt safer standing than sitting, even though he knew that that would make little difference. Mastix would be able to reach him no matter what. But it made him feel more at ease on his feet. "Actually, it does, if you think about it. If he hurts me, he hurts you. Maybe he thinks if he injures me bad enough...you'll hand me over just to spare me the pain he'll cause."

The Gauls thought about that for a moment, letting the meaning sink in; and they didn't like it one bit. That meant that all the pain Asterix had endured thus far hadn't been for the warrior benefit, necessarily. It had been meant to target _them_. Making them helplessly stand by and watch their friend suffer. Mastix knew it made them feel defeated; knew it made them feel hopeless. If that was indeed his plan, things could, and probably would, get a lot worse. And the sad thing was, it was almost working, at least as far as hurting them. They felt nearly overwhelmed with guilt and fear. Their hands were tied. They couldn't let Asterix continue to endure such agony as Mastix caused, but they most certainly couldn't hand Asterix over either. If Mastix wanted their warrior, it couldn't be for anything good.

Vitalstitistix sighed heavily. "So what are we going to do about it?"

Getafix began to pace, a hand held to his beard in though. After a moment, he paused, turning to the villagers who were nervously watching his every move. "It's obvious we need help," the druid concluded. "Alone I cannot handle Mastix's power, but, with the assistance of another druid, it might be possible to buy us some more time."

"But you're the only druid around these parts," Fulliatomatix pointed out. "Where do we find another one?"

"In the Forest of the Carnutes."

The Gauls' mouths hung open in shock, before Vitalstitistix cried out, "But that's over four hundred kilometers away! It would take four days to travel there by foot, and another four to get back! And that's with no stops along the way! That's far too long a time!"

"The trip would be faster on the way back," Getafix assured, warming to the idea. "We druids do use horses from time to time, you know. And I'm sure they wouldn't mind a few being borrowed. That should cut the travel time in half." He nodded sadly. "As for the trip there, that might be a little more of a problem..."

"But who will go?" Unhygenix asked.

Asterix raised a hand to volunteer. "I-"

"No Asterix; not you," Getafix said sternly. That was the last thing they needed. As it was, things were bad enough without their enemy catching the one person he so desperately wanted to get his hands on. The druid's expression softened. "Mastix is focused on you, Asterix. If you go out there, he'll sense it. No; it has to be someone he won't expect."

"How about me?"

"Hmm...No, Fulliautomatix; though that is very brave of you. You are far too strongly built to go sneaking about through the forest without being detected. And you're not the most graceful fellow here. I've seen your idea of stealth, and I assure you it wouldn't work." There were several chuckles at this statement before Getafix added, "That's also why we can't send Obelix. While he's faster then anyone, it would do little if Mastix heard him crashing through the forest. Mastix would have a spell after him in a second."

"And Obelix couldn't outrun his magic?" Asterix asked, though he much preferred that his friend stay by his side. It was an opinion that his large friend shared strongly.

"No," Getafix answered sadly. "Nothing can outrun magic; he wouldn't be able to get away." The druid paused, knowing how his next words were going to be received. "I was thinking more of Cacofonix."

There were several exclamations of surprise, as well as disapproval. Not that they were against the bard being chosen, but it just didn't seem like such a good idea. Cacofonix wasn't used to going on missions. They couldn't barely remember him ever being on one; and certainly not _alone_. All around, it seemed to spell trouble. They didn't want him to get hurt either, which was even more cause for their vote against the suggestion. Of all of them, the bard was the least experienced in battle. They didn't even know if he knew _how_ to fight. A musician was hardly expected to learn such things, and though he had pounded a few Romans time and again, that had been under the influence of the Magic Potion. Even a child could do that.

The bard seemed equally concerned. He stood up in alarm, which did little to convince the others that he was the right choice. "M-me?"

Getafix moved forward until he was in front of Cacofonix. He knew that the bard was frightened; that they all were. But, as the druid saw it, they had little choice in the matter. "Yes, Cacofonix. You're one of the fastest among us, and you're so light and sure of foot, I very highly doubt that Mastix would pick you up. All you'd have to do is be very careful."

"Wait, wait, wait," Unhygenix stuttered, also raising to his feet. He pointed a chubby finger against the druid's chest. "I thought you said it wasn't safe to separate anymore. If he goes out there, he might get caught!"

There was a moment of unsure silence, which, surprisingly, was broken by Cacofonix's soft voice. "But if we all stay here, we haven't got a chance...I'll go, Getafix." He met the druid's gaze and actually smiled. "But you'll have to tell me how to get there. I'm not used to traveling very far. That's more Asterix and Obelix's occupation usually."

Getafix returned the smile. He reached forward, putting a comforting hand on the bard's shoulder. He knew this couldn't be an easy decision for the young muscisian. But, just like any of his fellow Gauls, he was willing to take the chance. "I'll do better than that, I'll draw you a map. Impedimenta, have you any parchment and some form of ink?"

"I think we do, let me go see." The woman returned with a small amount of black ink, a gift from a friend in Egypt they had happened to meet sometime in the past, and a medium sized sheet of papyrus, also from Egypt. It wasn't much, but it would serve its purpose. Impedimenta had been saving the remaining amount for a special ocation, maybe for a letter to her brother, Homeopathix. Though, this was far more important.

It took some time to prepare. Getafix drew out a careful map for Cacofonix, walking the bard through it multiple times. It was more difficult than the druid had inticipated to create a drawn image of a trail he had taken so many times in his life. He had traveled that road so many frequently that it had become more of a habit than anything to get from the village, there, and back again. He had to search his memory for certain landmarks that might help Cacofonix along the way. He was moderately satisfied with the end result, though he would have liked to have been able to do better.

But Cacofonix did very well; asking questions that were really quite sensible on his part. The bard was more educated than most of the villagers, being the only one eligible to teach, other than Getafix. He had taught the children for a number of years; alternating between him and the druid. He did fairly well in that area, as long as he didn't sing. He could read maps quite well, and was among the few in the village who could actually write. He knew his directions, as well as how to tell them by the stars, as most of the Gauls knew how to do. All in all, Getafix was quite certain that Cacofonix was perfectly qualified to take on the mission. Experience would have been good too, but the bard was slightly less proficient in that area.

While the druid and the bard conversed, the other Gauls did their part. Some warmer clothes were donated by Vitalstitistix himself, though they were far too large for Cacofonix. But, if the chill in the air _inside_ the hut was any indication of the temperature outside, the bard would need all the warmth he could get. The women hunted around in the kitchen, finding a series of less-perishable foods that Cacofonix might take with him. They packed what they guessed would be right for four days worth of travel, though it was most likely more than the bard would need. Cacofonix didn't eat all that much, after all; which explained his thin stature.

They all worked quickly and efficiently, knowing that time was of the essence. Despite the dark, foreboding storm that raged outside, they guessed it was going on noontime; though it was impossible to tell for sure. Their tasks were done quietly, mostly so as not to wake the children, but also because they were worried. If Cacofonix was caught, Mastix would use him to get to Asterix. Of that, they were certain. But, Getafix was right. They couldn't just sit around and do nothing. No matter how much they wanted to dispute it, they knew Cacofonix was the right choice. The bard was very quiet; hardly noticeable most times...when he wasn't singing. But they trusted him to refrain from any form of music while away. Fear of Mastix would convince him to be as silent as humanly possible, and besides, his lyre still lay on top of the wall parapets; in the rain.

Finally, everything that had needed to be done had been taken care of, as well as packed. Getafix rolled up the parchment map and handed it to Cacofonix with some kindly advice.

"Alright, Cacofonix. As long as you turn your back to the sea and go straight, you should be fine. Once you get out of our area I am certain the storm will lift. Even Mastix does not have the power to curse an entire country. My guess is that the storm only resides here, around our village. Once you are out, you should be able to reach the Carnutes by heading due East. Do your best. Travel as quickly as you can. When you get there, ask for the Venerable Chief Druid, and mention my name. I'm certain he will be more than willing to help." He paused, eyeing the nervous bard with sympathy. The fellow looked quite frightened, griping the map with both hands, keeping it pressed to his chest as if he were afraid he would lose it. He almost looked comical, dressed in clothes far too large for him; but there was nothing humorous about this situation at all. The druid sighed. "I'm sorry to put this all on your shoulders, Cacofonix."

The bard gave another nervous smile. "Th-that's alright," he stuttered, "I-I was due for an adventure anyhow."

Impedimenta came forward and handed the bard a small sack. "Here, Cocafonix." It wasn't very heavy, but it did contain quite a few lumps of something or other. The musician reached out a hand to take the object.

"What is it?"

"A bit of cheese, apples, and some bread. Should last you a few days." She hesitated, looking into his face worriedly. The thought of their bard out alone, and in such weather, concerned her greatly. She disliked the bard's singing as much as the next Gaul, but no one could ever say they disliked Cacofonix himself. If something were...ever to happen to him; he would be sorely missed. "Be careful."

He nodded, taking the sack gratefully. The bard looked around at the faces of his friends and neighbors, gathered around him anxiously. In their expressions he could clearly read the worry and fear for him, and it filled him with a feeling of purpose and courage, that he certainly hadn't felt a moment before. "I'll go as quick as I can," he promised. "I'll bring help." He carefully tossed the sack over his shoulder, wrapping the excess material of his new clothes a little tighter around himself. He actual looked the part now. The usual blue and white-checkered attire with red cloak had been exchanged for a dark green tunic and a brown vest that had been donated by one of the other villagers. The only bit of his original clothing he still wore was his white pants and blue shoes. The cloak they had decided on discarding altogether. It wouldn't be easy to run, if he was forced to, with any trailing material to trip him up. He looked odd in this new outfit, his appearance reminding one much more of a traveler or merchant than a bard.

"Well, I guess I'll go," he remarked, a little reluctantly. While he was anxious to help his people, he was still very frightened about going off alone.

"Someone should walk him to the gate," Impedimenta commented quickly. She felt as if they were throwing their friend out of his own village, even though she knew the bard was going willingly. The least they could do was stay with him as long as possible, even if it was just to the village limits.

Surprisingly, it was Fulliautomatix who immediately volunteered, along with a still rather guilty Unhygenix. Goodbyes were said all round, some of the women even giving Cacofonix a tearful hug. The bard took the attention with obvious discomfort, though he was very grateful. After receiving a few final words of encouragement and wisdom, Cacofonix, Fulliautomatix, and Unhygenix headed out the door into the driving rain.

The village was practically a mud pit by this time, every puddle a vast pool of dark, brown muck and mire. Some spots were flooded altogether. The dry, summer had shriveled the ground of all moisture, and the sudden torrential rains hadn't soaked in as quickly as it would have otherwise. This caused small rivers of runoff to trail on and along the paths; creating small canyons in the dirt. The air was bitterly cold; it was a wonder it wasn't snowing.

The blacksmith and the fishmonger hurriedly led the way to one of the small side gates in the village wall. They weren't used very often. In fact, sometimes the villagers forgot they were even there. But Getafix had remembered, and had suggested that that be the way in which Cacofonix should leave. It was better than waltzing right out through the front gates.

Fulliautomatix unlatched the old, wooden door, glancing outside it quickly to make sure the coast was clear. Turning back he grasped the bard's hand in a warm, heartfelt handshake. "Good, luck." And from the sincere tone in his voice, Cacofonix knew he meant it. The bard returned the gesture carefully; mindful of the blacksmith's still wrapped hands.

Unhygenix coughed lightly into his fist, getting the bard's attention. When Cacofonix turned to him, the fishmonger stuck his hand out awkwardly, offering a stiff handshake of his own. He half expected the bard to refuse it, after all Unhygenix had said to him earlier that morning, but Cacofonix took it without hesitation, gently, like he had with Fulliautomatix; his face actually conveying a hint of relief.

"Hey..." Unhygenix quavered genuinely, "Watch your step out there, alright?"

The bard smiled. "Alright." He peeked out into the dark, cold forest beyond the gate. Gathering the courage to step outside the protection of Getafix's Neutralizing Spell. "I'll be back." With that he stepped out into the darkness. The fishmonger and the blacksmith watched, standing in the driving rain until they could no longer see their friend, and even then they stayed there a few extra minutes.

"He'd better...," Unhygenix choked out, his emotion breaking through without his consent. "...Or I'll kill him."

Fulliautomatix turned his head to look at the fishmonger, knowing that that was as close to a 'I hope he'll be alright' as Unhygenix would ever get. Nodding, the blacksmith sighed; slowly closing and re-latching the gate.

"Me too."


	17. Shift

The moment Cacofonix stepped outside the village, the storm around him intensified tenfold. Beyond the safety of the Neutralizing Spell, there was nothing to soften the blow of the monstrous gale that seemed to be tearing the forest apart. The temperature had dropped too, just as Getafix had predicted. The bard was instantly grateful for the layers of clothing he had been given. His normal attire would not have done a thing for him; being far thinner and summer-time friendly than the tunic and vest donated to him by the villagers and the Chief. Even then, he had to tuck his hands beneath his arms and press them close against his body to keep warm.

The darkness around him was thick and unnatural; terribly uncomfortable to a Gaul who enjoyed sunshine and light above almost anything. It took his eyes a moment or two to adjust, leaving him blinking, even as he made his way forward into the forest. The woods themselves were even darker, holding some sort of dark fog, or mist. The wind and rain tore through the trees, bending them mercilessly and causing them to creak and groan. The blasts of frigid air smashed into him from every direction, and he had to zigzag along as the wind would force him a little to the left, or a little to the right. The rain was far worse outside the village, with drops the size of small stones, pounding against the ground with low, audible thumps. They beat down on the bard, drenching him in minutes.

The first order of business, Cacofonix knew, was to get out of the storm. If Getafix was right, and he almost always was, then as soon as he left the area, the tempest should dissipate. After a moment or two of trying to figure out where he was and which direction he was facing, he finally determined that the sea was to his far left. Turning his back to the salt water expanse, he walked straight, directly away from it, as Getafix had instructed.

He entered the forest carefully. His feet hardly made any noise against the soggy grass; not that anyone could have heard anything above the sound of the storm anyway. But Getafix had stressed that Cacofonix stay perfectly quiet. Apparently, Mastix had very good hearing, though even the bard could sense it was more than that. The dark druid more than likely had spells all over the woods, set there to keep watch over the land; to be his eyes and ears. But Getafix had been sure that, with his focus so intensely set on the village, Mastix would be far less likely to pay any attention to his other defenses. At least, that was Getafix's hope. Personally, Cacofonix thought it was an awfully high stake to bet one's life on; or a whole village, but he trusted their druid's judgement.

There was a loud _snap_ above the bard's head, causing him to glance up fearfully. A branch gave way, crashing to the ground where the Gaul had been standing only a moment before. To avoid it, he had been forced to leap forward, and even then it had been far too close. The very forest seemed to be against him. Twigs and tall grass whipped out at his legs with a force that actually stung, probably scratching the skin beneath the clothing. The wind blew rainwater from his dripping wet hair into his eyes. But that wasn't the worst of it. Cacofonix knew that, somewhere within this forest of swaying timber, Mastix was lurking; like a dreadful beast. He might even be watching him at that very moment.

That thought brought the bard to an instant halt. His mind fell headlong into a desperate struggle; his fear screaming at him to turn back, but his heart telling him to continue forward. He couldn't just abandon his friends. But what had they been thinking?! Among the villagers, he was the weakest; the least experienced! And they were trusting enough to put their fate in _his_ hands?! By Toutatis; even _he_ could see the pure lunacy in that! The bard took a small, slow step backward.

But...they needed him to do this. Even if it scared him more than he had ever been in his whole life. If he failed them, what would happen?

They would be defeated.

The thought sent a shudder all through Cacofonix. They would be at Mastix's mercy and, as of yet, the dark druid had never shown that he had such a quality. He might hurt them...He might _kill_ them. Now that was something that Cacofonix would never allow, no matter how frightened he may be. He once recalled hearing that bravery was not the lack of fear, but of doing something right _despite_ the fear. If that was so, even the bravest struggled with what he was feeling...even Asterix? Of course. Asterix was human after all; and everyone is afraid of something. With these thoughts filling him with determination, the bard reclaimed the step he had taken back, and continued forward once more.

Cacofonix made his way through the forest, in as straight a line as he could manage. The wind and weather made it difficult at times, but it helped that he knew the woods fairly well. He had walked them many times as a child, and even more often as an adult. It was usually a place of peace and tranquility...nothing like it was now. The trees blocked out a good portion of the rain, but the water gathered on the ground, until it was more like wading through an ankle-deep marsh than a forest. The bard felt a twinge of regret that the clothes his friends had lent him were getting ruined so quickly. He hadn't been out for more than twenty minutes, but he was already covered with more mud and moisture than he had ever been in his life.

Swiftly making his way through the bowing brush weighed down by rainwater, Cacofonix carefully climbed over a series of fallen trees. It was a shame that the storm had knocked them down; they hadn't been terribly ancient. If Dogmatix could see the uprooted timbers, he'd probably faint dead away. But Getafix would be able to replant some when this whole mess was over, and that was some consolation.

The wind was really doing a lot of damage, and the forest was beginning to look a lot less like itself and a whole lot more like someplace completely different. Cacofonix eased himself down the side of a muddy embankment. It felt like he had been walking for an eternity, and he began to convince himself that he _must_ be almost out of the woods by this point. That suddenly made Cacofonix realize just how badly he wanted to get out of the dark, shrouded mist. Images of sunshine and color flashed in his mind, spurring him to quicken his pace. Putting on an extra burst of speed, his feet patted almost silently against the earth as he ran. The bard spotted a break in the foliage a moment later, and a great need to reach it filled him. Cacofonix had never had claustrophobia, necessarily; but the tight, depressing confines of the pressing forest had instilled in his heart such black despair, that he had felt as though he were suffocating. Now that relief was in sight, he found himself rushing to meet it, all caution momentarily forgotten.

It turned out to be a clearing, however. One that the bard wasn't so familiar with; or, at least, he didn't think he was. While the rest of the forest was caught in a fierce tempest, the clearing he burst into was calm; almost eerily so. There was no wind, nor rain; all was perfectly still. But it was far from the relief he had been hoping for. The glade was filled with a swirling, black fog. It was so thick that Cacofonix held his breath; afraid to inhale it. The temperature was dreadfully warm, like hitting a solid wall of blistering heat. The bard skidded to a halt, his heart faltering with fear. Fear; terror, not because he was lost, but because there, standing only a short distance away...was Mastix.

The dark druid wasn't facing him, thank Toutatis; but that did little to allay Cacofonix's horror. The bard backpedaled quickly, reemerging with the underbrush. He knelt down, griping his chest as his heart pounded away, and kept his eyes trained on the frightening figure through the bushes.

Mastix appeared to be concentrating very hard. His eyes were shut tight; mouth pressed in a thin, smirking line. His hands were held out in front of him like claws; facing the village, the bard realized. That sickening green mist was all about him, mixing with the inky, black fog. It glowed and pulsed, almost making audible thrums as it fed of Mastix's power...or perhaps it was Mastix who was being fed. The dark druid was very focused, but his posture and mannerisms spoke of a barely contained hostility. Cacofonix nearly collapsed in on himself as he slowly began to understand just how close he had come to being caught.

It seemed the bard's natural ability at stealth had actually paid off. Even as he had been running through the forest and into the clearing, he had hardly made a sound. Or, perhaps, Mastix was just too focused to notice him. Either way, the bard was very grateful that he had not been heard. If the dark druid managed to capture him, Cacofonix knew that the other villagers would be trapped. For Mastix to have any hostages would bring terrible circumstances down on all their heads. After all, with Mastix threatening the life of one Gaul, how could they save him? They couldn't give up one Gaul for another. And, though Asterix would probably trade himself in an instant, Cacononix knew the others wouldn't allow it. And neither would he. There had been times in the past when, in their many encounters with evil characters, one of the villagers had fallen hostage to the enemy. It had been a nearly hopeless situation; and without an insane amount of luck, and the courage of a number of very brave individuals, it would have ended in dreadful tragedy.

Cacofonix had no desire to put his friends through that kind of torment. He had seen the effects of such a situation, and he would do almost anything to keep it from happening again. Things were complicated enough as it was. He needed to move on and find his way to the Carnutes. Sitting around here would do absolutely nothing to help his friends. And so, keeping his eyes locked on the dark druid, who was still performing his black spells, the bard began to carefully back away from the clearing.

_CRACK!_

Yes; it was true that Cacofonix was very skillful in the art of stealth...but nobody is perfect. As he had shifted his foot behind him, the bard had stepped on a particularly brittle twig. With a loud snap, the sound sent what felt like a vibration of alarm throughout the entire forest. Even with the howling wind and driving rain, it seemed to echo, announcing the bard's presence like a trumpet in Caesar's court. Cacofonix snapped his gaze down to the tattletale object in terror, eyeing it as if he had just been bitten by a venomous snake. Whipping his head around back in the direction of his enemy, the bard cringed involuntarily when he saw that Mastix had lowered his arms to his side. The green mist had faded in intensity, though it still hovered about the dark druid like a threatening aura, and the strange, eerie calm that had existed within the clearing now stretched to cover every inch of the shrouded wood. The storm no longer raged. It was as if everything had frozen; becoming perfectly still, filling the bard with an overwhelming sense of dread. Cacofonix couldn't hear a single sound throughout the entire forest...except for the painfully loud beating of his own heart in his ears.

Mastix stood straight and erect; unmoving. He did not seem alarmed or surprised, but was calm, as if he had expected this very thing to happen. Perhaps he had even planned it. Getafix had warned the bard that the dark druid had more than likely posted spells all through the woods. Why else would Cacofonix suddenly up and run into the clearing? He would never have done that!...Unless his judgement had been clouded. With fear. It suddenly became very clear to the bard that he had walked right through some sort of trap. A panic spell, maybe; if such a thing existed. But no use dwelling on that. All that truly mattered now was worrying about what would come next.

"I know you're here." Mastix's voice sounded sickeningly sweet; kind, but in a way that made the bard tremble. "I can't tell who you are...but I know you're here. I can feel your presence." As if to prove his point, the dark druid slowly turned to face Cacofonix's direction. For a moment, the bard felt as though his heart had stopped. Mastix was looking right at him. But that wasn't possible! He was quite well hidden by the shrubs and bushes. But then Mastix's gaze shifted slowly, and Cacofonix realized that, while the dark druid _was_ aware of his presence, his exact location was still undetermined. But...Mastix could feel him? That was an unpleasant thought. How come he hadn't felt him before? Why now? _Because he wasn't focused on me_ _before_ , Cacofonix realized. He had inadvertently broken both Mastix's focus and his attack on the village. While that, in a way, was a good thing; it meant nothing of the kind for him. Cacofonix shrank back even more as Mastix's icy tone drifted to him once more.

"Oh, come now; there's no use hiding. You will come forward, willingly or no." The dark druid held a hand to his chest, just over his heart, in an almost sincere manner. But his intentions were anything but. The moment he had done so, Cacofonix felt an odd sensation crash over him, strong enough to make him gasp ever so softly. It wasn't exactly pain; not in the sense that it physically hurt him, but it seemed to rush into his mind; invading his thoughts. The bard was suddenly overcome with an almost irresistible desire to step out into the open and give himself up. It prodded and pushed at him mentally, and he had to fight to keep himself hidden where he was. It was as if everything within him was urging him to go forward; as though there wasn't the least bit of harm in it. But every fiber within the bard that remained unaffected, braced itself against the magical assault. He fought to keep control, sometimes nearly taking a step forward, then forcing himself to stuggle a step back. It was draining the energy from him very quickly, and Cacofonix could feel himself beginning to slip. He wouldn't be able to resist this much longer.

Mastix grinned wickedly, thrumming in a deep, almost sing-song voice. "Come out, come out; wherever you are..."

* * *

The villagers sat inside the Chieftain's hut looking particularly agitated. They were worried, though that wasn't anything new. But with each twist of the situation, different problems kept arising. With each new problem, came new worries. Cacofonix had left only a short while ago, and their thoughts were still firmly fixed on the bard. Fulliautomatix and Unhygenix's report, on what the weather was like outside the village, only increased their anxiety. From what they understood, the world was in chaos out there; tossing and turning to Mastix's rage and wrath...and their bard was out in the middle of it. It filled them with worry; and guilt that they hadn't been able to go with him.

Getafix sat on a stool in the corner. He too looked uneasy, which did little to allay the fears of the Gauls. If their druid was nervous, then there must be _something_ to be nervous about. Mastix was out there. The possibility of Cacofonix accidentally coming in contact with the monster had crossed everybody's mind, though no one had spoken this fear. It was as though they believed if they were to mention it, it would somehow come true. Even Getafix was reluctant to voice the prospect of such an event taking place. He had made sure to talk the bard through every possible situation, but that certainly didn't mean that something couldn't go wrong. In fact, the probability of that happening was far larger than the druid was letting on. He still stood by his belief that they had done what had had to be done, but that didn't make the situation any less difficult. Anything could happen. He could-

Getafix didn't get to finish that thought. He all at once felt a wonderful, physical relief wash over him. It was as if a terrible pressure; one that he had nearly become accustomed to, was suddenly released. Like he had been fending off a great horde of invisible evil, and the attack had suddenly turned away from him. It was a significant enough feeling for him to gasp, catching the other Gauls' attention. They turned to him curiously, wondering what the problem was; though, there didn't appear to be one. Getafix didn't look distressed. In fact, he looked alleviated. But a moment later, that expression changed. The druid went from looking more relaxed than they had seen him for the last few days, to going extremely rigid. His face paled considerably as a weak exclamation left his lips. "Oh no..."

Everybody tensed at the barely audible words. Vitalstitistix was by the druid's side in an instant, as was Asterix. "What is it, Getafix?" the Chief pleaded, the anxiety clear in his voice, no matter how hard he tried to hide it. It seemed like anything that could go wrong, _was_ going wrong lately, and the fear that something was about to be added to their long list was very strong. "What's happened?"

Getafix rose from his seat quite suddenly, turning to Vitalstitistix and griping the sleeve of the Chieftain's dark, green tunic, startling the Chief terribly. "It's Mastix!" The rise in emotion that sprang in the druid's tone was enough to send the Gauls into fear, but Getafix's words did so to an even greater extent.

Asterix attempted to catch the druid's attention, and calm him. He was certain that Getafix's fear was well founded, but the rest of them had to understand what was going on too. "Has he broken through?" he inquired nervously. Even as he asked it, he realized that that couldn't be. If that had been the case, Asterix was sure he would have felt some form of aggression on his person by now. But, as of the moment, he felt nothing; nothing but a sudden rush of adrenaline at Getafix's obvious concern.

The druid hurriedly shook his head, mumbling at first, but his voice quickly gaining strength. "No...No! He hasn't broken through; he's stopped his attack!"

The villagers blinked, not understanding why that was reason to be distressed. That was what they wanted, wasn't it? For Mastix to give up and leave them alone; though, they certainly had not expected such an event to actually occur. In fact, it seemed downright ridiculous. Mastix wouldn't give Asterix up that easily. Never. The Gauls had only known of the dark druid a very short time, but they knew that much. Mastix was evil. He was filled with such rage and wrath; the depths of which the Gauls had never witnessed. Oh, sure, they had seen their share of monstrous, revengeful enemies in the past, but this was different. So direct. Such a focused hatred. Powerful.

Unhygenix spoke up from his seat beside his wife, Bacteria, on the other side of the room."Well, that's good, isn't it?" He too wasn't sure he was discerning the problem correctly.

Getafix shook his head harder, his distress growing considerably by the moment. "You don't understand! The only reason Mastix would break off his attack on _us_ is if his focus has been interrupted...Or if he has shifted it to something else!... _Someone_ else..."

A look of horror seemed to dawn on the villagers' faces. The understanding came to them like the rising sun; slow, but full of clear, certain significance. There was only one person who could have caught Mastix's attention. Only one who was even out there to do so. Cacofonix.

Fulliautomatix gulped visibly; dreading the answer to his next question. "You mean he's-?"

"He's spotted Cacofonix!" Getafix finished, his fear suddenly turning to frustration. As far as anyone knew, druids were commonly very controlled folk. They had a sturdy grip on their feelings and emotions; often even thought of as impassive or seemingly indifferent. They stuck to their potions and spells, contributing to the world in that way; without really interacting with those who lived within it. They were the mysterious hermits of the earth, who cared for mankind in their own, quiet way. But Getafix was different. He was a part of a small handful of druidic men in history to leave his people for another. His emotions were far stronger; more pronounced. Though he was far calmer than any of the Gauls in most situations, it was times like this that the villagers realized just how unique their druid truly was when compared to his own people.

Panic gripped the Gauls.

Impedimenta had moved forward to stand beside Vitalstitistix. The couple seemed to lean into each another; one seeking comfort and the other trying to give it. The Chief's wife gave Getafix a frightened, imploring look. "We have to help him! You have to do something! Please!" She couldn't stand the thought of having gone through the horrible trials of the last few days, just for it to end like this; in tragedy.

Getafix looked lost. "What can I do?" he stressed, holding a hand to head, as if some heavy burden resided there. "With the Neutralizing Spell up, I can't do anything to help him!" He closed his eyes, searching his mind for a more encouraging solution, but nothing was coming to him. This whole situation from the start had made him feel more unbalanced than he had been in years; ever since that day in the Carnutes. He felt uncertain, and, for the first time in a long time, completely out of his league. "What can I do?" he asked again, as if hoping someone else held the answers. Luckily for him, someone did.

Asterix grabbed the druid's hand, effectively catching Getafix's attention. His eyes shone with a grim determination that the druid didn't necessarily like. "Getafix," the blond Gaul urged gently, "Is there some way you can shift the Neutralizing Spell to cover Cacofonix? Give him time to escape?"

A rather shocked expression crossed Getafix's face. He hadn't even considered that option. Of course, he wasn't exactly thinking clearly. He was becoming more and more worn out, at a rate he still tried to deny as a hazard to his health. "That...that might be possible. I've never tried it." The more he thought about it, the more he realized he could do it; though, not without cost. "But, Asterix, in order to do that, I'll have to let the protection around the village fall! Mastix would have the clearest shot he's had at you yet!"

Obelix stiffened visibly at that revelation. He had let Asterix wander a short ways from him, but now rose to stand directly behind his friend. He did not want Asterix putting himself in danger. Asterix always did that, and maybe that was just part of being a village warrior, but Obelix thought it was the craziest thing he had ever heard of. In his mind, it all seemed so...complicated. There had to be a simpler way of protecting others without almost killing oneself over and over again in the process. Of course, that was easy for him to say; he was nearly indestructible, or so it seemed at times. His boundless strength powered him, making him immune to the restrictions in which the other Gauls were trapped. He could afford to step in; put himself in danger for the others' sake, because, most times, nothing could hurt him. Oh, he wasn't invincible; he knew that. But Asterix was...Asterix. He was strong when he had the potion streaming through his veins, but without it...Asterix was even less invincible than Obelix. By a _lot_. Asterix knew that. So why was he always putting himself in danger? Obelix just couldn't understand.

Asterix was very much aware of Obelix's discomfort. He had felt the large Gaul rise and come to stand by him; guarding him, as Obelix had done many times in the past. It was something that Asterix relied on, maybe more than was healthy. Obelix was one of those best friends that every person needs in their life; a pillar of strength that keeps you founded and focused. But Asterix also knew that, small as he was, he could take care of himself when push came to shove. Obelix didn't have to watch over him as closely as he always did, even if it often was the comfort that Asterix needed. It all came down to Asterix fearing that Obelix would get hurt. It was an almost laughable thought; Obelix being harmed, but it wasn't impossible. Obelix was human; flesh and blood; and, just like he wanted to with _all_ the villagers, Asterix wanted to keep him safe...No matter what.

"I'm willing to take that chance," he spoke up bravely, standing as tall as his stature allowed. "If Mastix gets his hands on Cacofonix, that'll be it for us. Cacofonix has _got_ to get through."

Obelix lay a hand gently on his friend's shoulder. "Asterix-"

The smaller Gaul shook his head vigorously, carefully separating himself from Obelix's touch. If Mastix did hit him with another spell, he didn't want Obelix getting burned again. "We don't have a choice, Obelix! We're running out of time! Do it, Getafix! Please!"

The druid exchanged an uneasy glance with Obelix, half expecting the biggest Gaul to object strongly. But this time, Obelix remained silent; his hands clenched at his sides and his expression set like the very stones he quarried. Getafix knew that Obelix had accepted the truth behind Asterix's words, as had they all, though, perhaps, with a considerable amount of hesitation. There really was no other choice.

Rallying his strength, Getafix closed his eyes, preparing himself to shift the Neutralizing Spell that surrounded the village, so that it would surround Cacofonix instead. It wouldn't be easy, seeing as the bard was a bit further away, but Getafix had to try. It was something the druid wasn't even sure if he could do, what with him being so tired. His strength was quickly dwindling, but if this helped them get Cacofonix out of this nightmare and off to get assistance from the outside world, it would be worth it. Reaching his full magical capacity, Getafix settled all his concentration firmly on the bard.

The villagers knew the instant that the spell around the village fell. It was like someone whipping the warm blanket off of you on a cold, crisp morning. They suddenly felt very much striped of all protection, unconcealed and out in the open. Asterix made sure that he wasn't close to any of the others. He would not allow anyone to get hurt again because of him. The Gauls all stood watching anxiously as Getafix struggled to raise the spell on one, small individual, deep within the forest outside the village...


	18. Reshift

Cacofonix was losing the fight. He tried to hold his ground, bracing himself against anything within his reach; but still, he was losing the fight. Whatever spell Mastix had him trapped in was strong; tugging at him as though there were ropes tied to his very soul. It pulled and yanked, and the more the bard tried to resist, the more it started to physically hurt. While his struggle was against keeping his body planted where it was, the main battle was in his mind. The attack was mental, digging into his thoughts; sewing false beliefs that he _wanted_ to step into the clearing; that everything would be fine if he did. It would be a relief; a freeing act on his part. But Cacofonix knew better. At least some of his thoughts stayed intact, and that was the part of him that was fighting for all it was worth. But he was losing. Slowly but surely, his unsteady feet began to inch forward. Sometimes he managed to pull them back a few steps, but that was becoming less frequent. He was starting to lose ground, as well as strength.

All the while, Mastix was stalking the clearing like a caged tiger. He was peering into the underbrush, probably hoping to catch a glimpse of his daring intruder, though his mannerisms spoke that he wasn't putting all that much effort into the action. Why should he? After all, his spell was doing most of the work. The bard wouldn't be able to hold up much longer.

The dark druid kept up a steady flow of conversation; needling and reedy, trying to coax Cacofonix out into the open, though it was more likely part of the spell. "Hmm. You're doing quite well." Mastix gave a gleeful cackle. "Most of my...other subjects, never lasted this long against my Calling Spell. Strange feeling it gives you, isn't it? A sort of barely tolerable draining of control. I'm sure you've noticed the way in weasels its way into you, slowly taking over your will." He chuckled again. "Oh, but you're fighting it. That means, for you, it's a little bit different. Along with everything else, you're starting to feel that dull, burning ache...aren't you? That fiery burn that feels like it's eating away at you? No? Well, you will."

In truth, Cacofonix could already feel it. It only added to his dilemma, causing his body to strain harder against the spell, which only increased the pain. He felt hot; sweat breaking out on his skin. His legs were burning with a sensation like fire. The bard gave a small gasp as he felt his body move another fraction forward against his will. Cacofonix was shaking, whether from fear or the strain of fighting, he didn't know. He was going to collapse; or, at least his mind was going to. Then the spell would have full control, and the bard would stumble into the clearing. The last defensive walls of his mind began to crumble. This was it. He simply couldn't hold out any longer.

Then, suddenly, like a tidal wave of relief, Mastix's spell was blocked. The result was something like whiplash, causing the bard to stumble backwards, soundlessly against the soggy earth. He sat there trembling and gasping as quietly as he could, trying to regain something relatively normal for a heart beat. His limbs felt weak and shaky, still tingling with that fire-like burn, though it was a fire rapidly going out. The pain and fear of before was replaced with bafflement. Cacofonix couldn't figure out what had happened. Why would Mastix let him go? That just didn't add up with the dark druid's character. But then, as the feeling of security and relief grew stronger about him, the answer slowly dawned on him. It was Getafix. Somehow, the Gaulish druid had managed to cover him with the Neutralizing Spell, shielding the bard from Mastix's evil intent...But if Getafix was protecting him...who was protecting the village? Could Getafix really protect both at the same time? Cacofonix doubted that. That meant that the village was in grave danger! And all because of him! The bard realized that he needed to get away. The moment he was safe, Getafix could refocus on the village; on Asterix. Mastix would sense their weakness...he already had.

Mastix broke into a string of profound curses; his expression having gone from gleeful to positively livid. The green and black mist around him pulsed angrily, causing flashes of light to rumble within the dark clouds. Mastix had felt something cut in across his Calling Spell, and he recognized it at once as the same spell that Getafix had used against his attack on their little warrior the day before. Getafix had somehow been able to shift the concentration of the...A cruel smile slipped across the dark druid's face. An understanding, leading to a sinister observation. If Getafix had shifted the spell...Asterix was unprotected. Dismissing the fact that an intruder still lurked in the bushes nearby, Mastix raised his hands once more in the direction of the Gaulish village, and, with a low chuckle, sent a strong wave of magic toward his true prize. Why waste time with an ordinary villager, when his main goal had just made himself so readily vulnerable.

* * *

The spell hit Asterix with tremendous force, causing him to yelp, even though he had been expecting it. He had known that Mastix would take the opportunity to attack while their defenses were down; slamming his magic at his target with unconcealed malice. With absolutely nothing to block or delude it, Asterix found that the strength of the dark druid's power was greatly increased, though not with the soul-ripping pain of yesterday. This was new; somewhat less harmful physically, but certainly no less pleasant. It was a strange sensation, like being pulled; tugged mentally. The blond Gaul found that he suddenly wanted to give himself up to Mastix. He wanted to give in, but, the part of him that wasn't affected, fought with every fiber of its being.

Unbeknownst to the Gaulish warrior, this was the same spell that Cacofonix had been suffering only a few moments before. Just as Getafix had shifted the Neutraling Spell from the village to Cacofonix, Mastix had shifted the Calling Spell from Cacofonix to the village; more specifically, to Asterix. But the dark druid, as cruel as he was, added a little more to his attack than he had on the bard. Asterix found all at once that he felt as if his chest were tightening; making it terribly hard to breath. This wasn't like the Paralyzing spell either; not that crushing weight surrounding his body on all sides. This was different. This was more like being trapped; being forced to stay and forced to go all at once. It was some sort of panic, which was something Asterix very rarely felt. And it hurt...and it was steadily beginning to hurt more.

The other Gauls stood in a clump in the corner, watching fearfully. They had almost grown accustomed to feeling helpless during Mastix's attacks, but that did not make the experience any less painful. Their eyes wide and, in the womens' cases, brimming with tears, they had no choice but to stand by fearfully. They had noticed Asterix's yelp of surprise, as well as seen the sudden rigid way the smaller Gaul was holding himself. They were relieved that he wasn't writhing or squirming like he had the day before; and he seemed free to move as he wished, but it was more than apparent that Asterix was struggling to keep himself where he was standing. His breathing had quickened, and sounded somewhat labored, but he was still getting air at the moment, which allayed their fears just a fraction.

Obelix's eyes were wide, his hands clutching each other in front of his chest. He hated this. _Hated_ it. Mastix had no right to do this to his best friend...and they didn't even know why or what he was doing! As far as the big Gaul was concerned, the dark druid was torturing Asterix for no apparent reason. And Asterix was letting him! They all were! With a sense of frustration, Obelix accused himself of having let this go too far. That was the last straw. The biggest Gaul stepped toward his friend purposefully.

"No, Obelix!" Asterix cried out. His shout was more of a strangled yell, but it was sufficient to stop Obelix in his tracks. Asterix's eyes were fixed on him, begging him to stay away. Vitalstitistix and Fulliautomatix stepped forward to try and lead the big Gaul back to the corner, but Obelix brushed them off.

"I can't stand this any longer, Asterix!" Obelix shouted desperately, taking another step closer. "Let me help!"

"N-no, Obelix; please! I-it's alright. I'll b-be alright in a minute, Obeli-" Asterix cut off for a moment when his discomfort increased, but he managed to hide it. Under no circumstances did he want his best friend to be hurt. That would wound Asterix far more than anything else ever could. He would never be able to forgive himself if anything happened to Obelix; to any of the villagers. "It's not as...as bad this time. Let Getafix finish wh-what he's doing. Just w-wait. I-it's almost over."

Obelix didn't like his friend's choice of words. Instead of encouraging him, they only fed his distress. "But, Asterix...Getafix?" The large Gaul turned his attention to their druid, hoping for a bit of reassurance. What he found there was only cause for more concern. The druid was standing as straight and rigid as a menhir. He had turned a pastey sort of white, making him appear quite ill. Getafix's breathing was shallow, even more so than Asterix's, and his eyes were shut tight like the fists at his sides. The druid was really fighting hard; concentrating every ounce of his strength on doing what had to be done. Obelix realized that, while he and the villagers felt utterly useless in this situation, Getafix was fighting for them. He was the only one who _could_. The druid was doing his best, and it was effecting him badly. The villagers suddenly became just as worried for Getafix as they were for Asterix. They weren't sure exactly how magic worked; how Getafix could 'shift' a spell from one place to another, and they probably would never understand it. It was far too above their upbringing; they weren't druids. But, they could see that Getafix was struggling. What he was trying to do wasn't easy, and they wished with all their hearts that they could somehow make his burden lighter.

Getafix focused his attention on Cacofonix. It was hard to do so; the bard was a good distance from them, and Getafix had never projected a spell over such a long distance. He had been doubtful as to whether he would be able to reach Cacofonix at all. Most spells had a range in which they functioned; beyond that range they were useless. Some spells could travel farther, while others could only work within a few feet of the target. To Getafix's relief, his Neutralizing Spell seemed to be the former. Though he couldn't necessarily feel where Cacofonix was exactly, he was able to tell when his spell found the bard; protecting him. Getafix was also able to tell, in a very faded, uncertain way, that Cacofonix was now on the move. He could feel it because, as the bard drew further and further away, his grip on Cacofonix weakened. The druid just hoped that Cacofonix was running of his own free will. Mastix could be chasing him, for all Getafix knew; but that idea was discarded when Mastix's spell turned to Asterix. Getafix, even with his eyes shut, could hear the distress taking place within the hut as the villagers were once again forced to watch helplessly as their warrior was attacked. Getafix knew that the only way to assist Asterix would be to shift the spell back to the village; but he couldn't do that until Cacofonix reached safety. Silently willing the bard onward, the druid focused all his attention on projecting the spell.

* * *

Cacofonix gasped for breath as he put as much effort into running as he could. As soon as the bard had figured out that Mastix was no longer attacking him, but Asterix; and that the village was now unprotected, Cacofonix had taken off as fast as his legs could carry him. Mastix was far to occupied to care; too bent on getting his hands on Asterix. The bard ran through the forest, not even noticing the briers and twigs ripping at his legs. All that he knew was he had to get away. The villagers had made themselves vulnerable, so that they could help him. He needed to get out of the forest. He needed to get out of Mastix's reach so that there wasn't even the slightest chance of being used against the Gauls.

He was far more disoriented than he had been before. He wasn't even sure he was heading in the right direction. Cacofonix was pretty sure he was moving away from the village; he could feel Getafix's spell weakening the further he traveled. Whether he was heading due East or not, he didn't know, but as long as the bard was putting distance between himself and the village, he was doing fine. Just as long as he kept going...

* * *

Asterix felt his resolve beginning to weaken. Between the pain and the insistent pull of Mastix's spell, he was beginning to wonder what might happen if he let go just for a second. He was so tired; so very, very tired. Surely it wouldn't hurt to take a moment's breather; let Mastix gain a little slack, just for a split second...No. No, he couldn't do that! Why was he even thinking that! He couldn't give in. _Fight_! _Fight_! But it hurt to fight! The pain was increasing, and it was all Asterix could do to keep from crying out. He didn't want to make things harder for his friends, but he was drawing near to the limit of what he could physically take.

Getafix continued to project the spell, straining himself to his limits as well. The bard was almost there. The druid could feel it; sense that Cacofonix had almost reached the edge of Mastix's power. Just a few more...There!

"He's out!" Getafix shouted as he felt the magical line between him and the bard flicker out like a candle. Cacofonix was safe; outside of Mastix's power. But now came the hard part. Bracing himself, Getafix began to try and summon the shard remains of the Neutralizing Spell back over the village. It refused to come at first, whether it was because it was just too badly shattered or because the druid's dwindling energy store was greatly depleted, Getafix wasn't sure. But, after a moment or two of struggling, Getafix felt the pieces slowly shifting back together. Section by section, the village was being neutralized again.

Asterix felt Mastix's spell crumble under Getafix's bond with the village. It struggled to hold on to him; digging its claws into him like a fierce beast. Mastix was strong and determine; bent on getting his clutches on Asterix, and even now the blond warrior couldn't understand why. He had nothing the dark druid could possibly want! What did he need him for? A weapon? A slave? There were many of the other villagers who would be a far better choice in either case. Getafix could perform spells, Obelix and Fulliautomatix were quite strong, Cacofonix's voice was a considerable force, and even Unhygenix with his bad smelling fish was more of a threat than Asterix without the Magic Potion. Any one of them the warrior could see Mastix having a motive to attack; but him? Not that Asterix wanted the dark druid to go after his friends, he just didn't understand why he would target him. With these frustrated thoughts, Mastix's spell was broken, and Asterix dropped to his knees, panting for breath.

Obelix was kneeling at his side at once, followed by the other villagers. "Asterix, are you alright?" the big Gaul asked, his voice so hurt with worry that it made Asterix's heart twist in his chest.

"Y-yes," he answered, relying on those around him to carefully make his way back to his feet. "It...It wasn't nearly as painful as yesterday's attack. Thank Toutatis." He wasn't sure he could handle another assault like that one. He winced, rubbing his chest where his aching lungs resided. "But it still hurt." Asterix noticed Obelix's shoulders slump. "It's not anyone's fault," the blond Gaul added quickly. "There was nothing you could have done."

"But you wouldn't let me try," Obelix remarked, almost accusingly; but his voice told of much deeper emotions.

Asterix met his sad gaze. "I couldn't let you. It's what...I wanted. It was my decision. You wouldn't want to make things harder for me, would you?"

Obelix lowered his eyes. "No." Of course he wouldn't!

"Then stay safe...All of you." Asterix shifted his eyes to meet those of the other Gauls. They all hesitated, but then nodded dutifully. If that was what Asterix wished, they'd do their best to keep that promise. They wanted to be safe; who wouldn't? But they wanted Asterix to be safe as well.

"What about Cacofonix?" Impedimenta chimed in worriedly. "Did he make it to safety?"

"He must have," Fulliautomatix replied confidently, "Otherwise Getafix wouldn't have shifted the Neutralizing Spell back to us. Right Getafix?...Getafix?...GETAFIX!" The blacksmith lunged forward to support the collapsing druid. Getafix was breathing heavily, one hand shakily grasping his chest, while the other held his head. He was obviously in great discomfort; pale as snow and trembling violently.

"I'm alright, I'm alright," he insisted weakly as Fulliautomatix and Vitalstitistix carefully helped him over to a place to sit. He sank into the seat with obvious relief, continuing to hold his head and chest. After a few moments of clenching his eyes shut and attempting to regain his breath, the pain abruptly left the druid. With a sigh of relief, Getafix opened his eyes. He was met by a sea of concerned faces. He realized what his reaction must have looked like to them and felt quite guilty that he had caused them even more distress. "I'm sorry," he apologized unsteadily. "The transferring of the spell was just a little more...taxing than I thought it would be." He took in a wheezing breath. "But, to answer your question, Impedementa; Cacofonix is out of Mastix's reach."

The Gauls gave a collective sigh.

Asterix moved to lay a hand on the druid's shoulder. "How badly did the shift drain you?" he asked worriedly.

Getafix almost lied and said that he was no worse off than he had been before. He didn't want to needlessly cause them any anxiety. But as he took in their grim expressions, the druid knew there would be no fooling the Gauls. Locking his gaze sadly with Asterix he answered. "Very badly."

Asterix closed his eyes, as if seeking some inner strength. He nodded. "How long before you can't generate the spell any more?"

"I-I really don't know, Asterix...As long as I can."

* * *

Cacofonix stumbled and fell to his knees just outside Mastix's domain. He stayed bent, resting his hands on the ground in front of him as he panted, sweat dripping from his skin along with the rainwater that was still running off of him from the storm. He felt dizzy from his run; hot and shaky from pushing himself far beyond any distance he had ever sprinted before. He knew he'd be alright in a moment; he just needed to catch his breath. He coughed harshly, not liking the wheezing that came from his lungs as he did so. He hoped the ache in his throat and chest would hurry up and leave him, so that he could continue on his way.

Getafix had been right. The moment the bard had reached the edge of Mastix's magic, the storm had dissipated. Looking behind him, Cacofonix could see it raging in the woods between the trees. The black fog swirled around the branches, seeming to wither them. But it could not reach him. He was safe; and it took several moments before that fact sunk in. He was safe...but his friends were not. Cacofonix wasn't even sure if they were alright now. He had felt the Neutralizing Spell leave him, so Getafix must have re-initiated it to cover the village. But the question was, how much damage had been done in the meantime? Mastix had had plenty of time to attack while the villagers supplied him with protection. Asterix might be hurt...or worse...

_No, can't think of that right now_. He needed to get help. Danger was still danger, whether the Gauls were worse off or not.

Shakily rising to his feet, Cacofonix looked up at the bright, clear, blue sky. The sun was shining down on him, heat feeling warm and pleasant on his chilled skin. Sticking a hand down inside the front of his wet tunic, the bard pulled out the rolled up parchment that contained Getafix's hand-drawn map. Cacofonix was afraid the moisture might have soaked it, smudging the ink into something illegible. Luckily, that wasn't the case. The map was a little damp, both with rainwater and his own perspiration, but the words and directions were still perfectly intact. Folding the map this time, the bard placed in back into his tunic. It wouldn't do him any good yet; not so close to the village. The landmarks Getafix had drawn started just beyond Laudanum and Compendium; two of the four Roman camps that surrounded the Gaulish village. Until then, Cacofonix would have to rely on other means of finding his direction. He shielded his eyes as he surveyed the sun's position in the sky. It was nearly early noon now, and the sun was almost at its zenith. After a moment of remembering his lessons, Cacofonix determined due East. Wringing a little of the water from his clothing, the bard headed in that direction at a fast, determined pace.

As worried as he was for the other Gauls, Cacofonix couldn't help but feel relieved at being out of the village. He had felt so trapped there; hemmed in on all sides by Mastix's evil. And it wasn't even aimed at him! The bard couldn't imagine what it must be like for Asterix; the target of the dark druid's focus. And then there had been the whole thing with Unhygenix. That had been hard to handle too. Cacofonix knew he had made, what could have been, a terrible mistake. He shuddered to think of what might have happened if the falling table had landed on anyone. Unhygenix had two children. Being hit by an object that large; that heavy and from such a height...It could have killed a young one. By Toutatis! It could have killed a full grown adult! The bard hadn't really thought about it that way before. No wonder Unhygenix had been so upset! Cacofonix had scared him. Terrified him. The bard silently gained a new understanding for the fishmonger; who was simply trying to deal with the emotions he was feeling the way he was most familiar, which in this case, was anger. But yet, Unhygenix had volunteered to walk him, along with Fulliautomatix, to the gate in the pouring rain. As strange as it seemed, the bard realized that that was as close to an apology he was going to get from the fishmonger. Even though Uhygenix's harsh words from that morning still stung, they hurt a lot less now that Cacofonix was sure the fishmonger had not truly meant it. The bard had said some pretty hurtful things too; things he hadn't meant either. Unhygenix had been his friend ever since they were children. That was a friendship that the bard wanted to keep intact. Cacofonix resolved to apologize once more when he returned to the village. The rift in their friendship needed to be mended, and Cacofonix was willing to take the first step.

As the bard continued through the bright, colorful woods, his mind shifted to other subjects, most of which had to do with the last couple days. In hindsight, it all felt so predictable. They should have known not to let a stranger into the village. Oh course, Mastix had magically disguised himself as the woman, Petunia, and there had been nothing particularly threatening about her. What else could they have done? Tossed her out? Unlikely. The Gauls were known for their hospitality. They would never have turned away someone in need, as 'Petunia' had claimed to be. But they had been blinded by the misleading appearance; none of them had even suspected...except maybe Asterix. The bard recalled the warrior's reluctance to share any knowledge with their guest, something Asterix would never have done without good reason. But why hadn't he spoken up? They could have done something...right? The more Cacofonix thought about it; they couldn't have. Even if Asterix had mentioned his suspicions, the villagers wouldn't have believed him. After all, there is nothing dangerous about a little, old woman. Now that same 'little old woman' had the Gauls practically on their knees. Even if Asterix had spoken up; even if they had believed him, would it really have changed anything that had happened? If they had faced 'Petunia', Mastix would have probably attacked Asterix right then and there. They'd still be in danger, maybe even more so. For if they had stood up to Mastix when he first showed up, they would have been facing him without Getafix.

That was a frightening thought in and of itself. Getafix was really the only thing standing between hope and total disaster. The druid was the light that offset Mastix's darkness. Though Getafix claimed to be less powerful than the dark druid, and maybe he was, but he was managing to misdirect the villain's attacks, and that was all they could ask of him. Getafix was doing his best for them; protecting them. He didn't have to; he wasn't even one of the villagers, per say. He was an outsider who, through the years, had been incorporated into their lives; their family. He had no obligations; no reason to do what he did, whether it was making Magic Potion or defending them from some druidic lunatic. But Getafix stayed. He fought for them. In fact, if Getafix hadn't shown up that morning to face Mastix in his hut, they would probably all be very bad off...or maybe even dead. It was still a mystery how Getafix had known he was needed. He had been away on a trip to the Carnutes; how had he known about Mastix being in the village? Those were questions that Cacofonix knew he wouldn't be getting an answer too; at least, not for quite some time. Right now, he had other things to worry about.

The bard made his way through the underbrush, still trying to ease the ache in his limbs from his mad scramble to freedom. Mastix's spell had also had a rather nasty effect on him, and his muscles felt oddly weak and loose, as though he could only half feel them. But he couldn't slow his steady pace. Four days to reach the Carnutes was far to long a time in his opinion. He would push himself until he dropped if need be, though he rather hoped he would come across something to get him there faster. Maybe he could borrow a horse from a farmer along the way. That would speed up his journey significantly. Of course that all depended on-

SNAP!

The sound of a crunching twig to his left made Cacofonix nearly jump right out of his skin. His heartbeat skyrocketed again, as fears that Mastix had somehow followed him filled the bard's mind. The beautiful forest all at once lost its appeal, as Cacofonix stood frozen to the spot, listening motionless like a petrified hare. The forest was completely silent, except for the far off call of a love struck sparrow. But then-

SN-APP!

With a leap and a bound, Cacofonix veered of to the right, away from whatever was lurking within the bushes. The bard renewed his efforts when loud, heavy footsteps broke out of the silence and pursued him through the underbrush. Jumping over fallen logs and ducking under low branches, Cacofonix struggled to put some distance between him and whoever was chasing him, but his pursuer was gaining on him fast, while the bard's exhaustion was catching up to him even faster. Putting on one more, final burst of speed, Cacofonix leaped over a particularly high shrub. Even as he jumped it he couldn't believe he was actually going to make it over. But speed and desperation seemed to have lent wings to his feet, and he bolted over the foliage without a problem...but his triumph was short-lived.

BAM!

Before the bard had even landed his feet back on the solid earth, he smashed into something cold and hard with a smash and a rattle of metal. The impact knocked the wind out of him and Cacofonix fell back, landing hard on his rear with a painful gasp. He practically saw stars, and his already aching body screamed in protest to the sudden, brutal halt. When the dark haze that hovered in the bard's vision cleared, Cacofonix blinked, wincing as he looked up to see what he had hit...right up into the equally startled faces of a fully armed Roman patrol.

"Oops..."


	19. Compendium

Cacofonix had given up struggling. It wasn't like it was doing him much good. A Roman soldier stood on either side of him, each with a strong grip on one of his wrists; leading him forward through the quiet forest. They seemed very leery of the bard, holding him firmly but standing as though they wanted to be ready to let go and run at a moment's notice. The Gauls were used to that kind of reaction. The Romans were never certain when a Gaul was 'safe' to capture or not; seeing as if they had happened to have had any Magic Potion, the captors would deeply regret their actions. And since, most times, the Romans' encounters with the Gauls usually pertained of either Asterix, Obelix, or both, they tended to run for their lives if they heard so much as a twig snap from within the Gauls' territory. But Cacofonix had run right into them, and, after a brief thrill of fear, they had realized that the bard was perfectly defenseless. The soldier into which Cacofonix had crashed had not been sent sprawling, thereby deeming this particular Gaul completely Potion-less. But that didn't keep the soldiers from remaining cautious. Gauls were unpredictable; cunning; indomitable. All the sorts of traits that made the soldiers shake in their sandals.

The prisoner heaved a heavy sigh. This was not a situation he had time for at the moment. Time was slowly slipping away; every second dawning and setting, making it seem like an eternity. Cacofonix had to refrain from asking if they could march faster. The sooner they got back to the Roman camp, whichever one it happened to be, the sooner he might be able to get free. He knew he couldn't escape now; not when he was being held tightly and had half a dozen Roman spears pointed at his back. And he probably wouldn't have any better luck escaping from the Roman camp either. Cacofonix wasn't strong, not even a little; and his adventures so far had really taken their toll. He was exhausted, and he was barely even out of sight of the village yet. That only left one other option. He'd have to talk his way out. The bard had seen Asterix do it before; the blond Gaul was an expert...as for Cacofonix, not so much. Though, desperation can be quite a firm motivation. He _had_ to get out of this situation. Mastix was still attacking the village, and the bard had no clue as to the condition of his friends after the shifting of the Neutralizing Spell. For all he knew, they could have already been defeated.

But he couldn't assume that. He wouldn't _let_ himself assume that. Cacofonix was going to believe that the Gauls were still standing strong, no matter what. And he was going to fight for them no matter what; anyway he could.

Before long, the patrol made their way to the edge of the forest. A path had been trodden through the brush over the many, many months the Romans had been stationed in the area. Through the parting in the trees, Cacofonix spotted the camp. Which one it was, he still wasn't sure. All these cursed Roman camps looked alike, by Toutatis! But, for some reason, it looked different to the bard. Oh, not in appearance; it was still that crude, colorless wall of straight, felled trees, lined with a number of watchtowers. Cacofonix could even see a few tents through the open gates. But the overall feeling the bard was getting was different. A sense of...foreboding? Fear? For he was definitely frightened. All the other times he had been in a Roman camp in his life had been of his own free will. This time he was a prisoner. And unless he could convince these Romans otherwise, he'd stay one. And Asterix and the others would be doomed to fall at Mastix's hand.

The soldiers led the bard forcefully up and through the gates of the camp, all the while appearing quite frightened of him. Which, if he wasn't in such a bad situation, Cacofonix might have found quite humorous. They, the Romans, were afraid of _him_? He didn't even have any Magic Potion. And they _knew_ that. But still they were afraid. It filled the bard with a little courage; even if, out of all of them, he most of all knew he was as helpless as a child.

For perhaps the first time, Cacofonix gazed around at the interior of the camp. Usually, when the Gauls made their usual 'visits' to the Romans, they were too busy bashing and punching to really look around. And now that the bard had the opportunity to do so, he found why. The place lacked anything truly interesting. The beautiful, green grass, that the villagers loved so dearly, had been worn away under the sandals of Caesar's invading force. The result was a lot of dry dust, that billowed into the air as it was walked upon and clung stubbornly to one's clothes. Shields and spears lay about in piles, awaiting use. Not that it would ever do them any good. Against the Gauls, their weapons were useless. Why, Obelix could shatter a shield with a single blow; any of the Gauls could...with the help of the Magic Potion running through their systems. But, being himself without any such comfort or strength, Cacofonix found the weapons to be far more threatening than usual.

The bard was led to a rather large tent; one that dwarfed the other, far smaller tents of the legionaries. He was marched inside, finding the interior to be far darker than the blistering heat and sun outdoors. Which Cacofonix still felt as strange. He had just come out of a dark, cold, fearsome storm, and then stepped out into a part of the world where things were the exact opposite. Things were perfectly normal out here; the summer sun still keeping many of the Romans lounging beneath the shade of the camp walls, away from the heat.

The tent wasn't lavishly decorated; though, compared to the others, it might have been. A number of thin woven rugs had been spread upon the floor, giving it an almost home-like air. There was a few belongings, mostly objects that would be expected to by found in an army tent, but a few were of a more personal design. At one end of the canopy, stood a table, worn and low, behind which sat a Roman; a Centurion, no less.

Cacofonix tried not to groan out loud when he recognized the man. It was Gracchus Armisurplus. So he was in Compendium then? Well, that wasn't too far from the direction he had been planning to go anyway; though he could have got along just fine without stopping by for a chat. But that wasn't the main cause of the bard's distress. He and Gracchus Armisurplus were quite familiar with one another; or at least, Cacofonix was familiar with him. How could he forget. It had been this particular Centurion who, under the direction of Odius Asparagus, the Prefect of Gaul (Toutatis curse him), had once some time ago captured the bard and put him on a galley sailing for Rome. It had been their plan to present him to Caesar as a 'gift', something that still sent shivers up Cacofonix's spine.

He had arrived in Rome and had been given to Caesar in chains; and though he had managed to keep an air of indifference, Cacofonix had really never been so scared in all his life. Angry too. He had known the Romans would never appreciate his singing...Not that many people did. Caesar had dismissed him like he wasn't worth the dirt he walked on; ordering for the bard to be thrown to the lions at the next games. Luckily, Asterix and Obelix had shown up to save him...in a rather embarrassing way; at least for Cacofonix. The bard had tried to act as if the whole adventure hadn't shaken him in the slightest; maybe even fooling himself...but, truth be told, it _had_ shaken him. Badly. And now he found himself in the presence of the very man who had helped to take him away from his village to begin with.

Gracchus Armisurplus looked up from what appeared to be some parchments he was viewing; seeming slightly annoyed at being disturbed in his work. His frown turned to curiosity as his eyes landed on the oddly dressed prisoner being firmly held standing before him. Raising from his seat and coming to stand in front of them, he raised an eyebrow questioningly as he smiled. "Well, what have we got here?" He crossed his arms over his armored chest, his expression telling the bard that he already knew that his 'guest' was from the village.

The soldiers, who still held Cacofonix's wrists tightly, were a little slower in catching his meaning; exchanging confused looks over the bard's head. Wasn't it obvious what they had brought? "I-it's a Gaul, Centurion," one stuttered uncertainly, turning his bewildered eyes to his commanding officer.

The Centurion's smile faded as he sent a glare at the hapless guard. "I know that!" he snapped, "But what is he doing here?!"

The legionaries jumped at his raised voice; and even Cacofonix flinched. "We found him running in the forest," piped up one soldier quickly. "We were afraid- er- _cautious_ ," he corrected. "We did not know whether he had their potion in him or not."

The Centurion took an uneasy step back, eyeing the prisoner wearily. "And does he?" It was a silly question really. If the Gaul had had any Magic Potion they would all be lying about in bruised heaps by now. But there was no harm in being extra careful.

Cacofonix rolled his eyes, speaking for himself. "No; he does not." He was tired of being ignored; talked about as though he wasn't standing right in front of them. If they had any questions, why not ask him directly? He wouldn't lie about something they already knew; and with a spear pressed purposefully against his back, he wouldn't be likely to try it either. But he knew that the Romans often thought themselves above the Gauls; seeing themselves as far more superior. That was their excuse for ramming in and taking away their freedoms, and towns, and homes; in some cases, their very lives. The bard's home was one of, if not the only, Gaulish village left standing. All the others had either surrendered, or had been defeated. But that still didn't settle the fact that the Romans had had no right conquering them in the first place. Maybe that was why Julius Caesar despised their village so. They were a living example that one _could_ oppose the Empire. They were living proof that the fight wasn't over.

At the sound of Cacofonix's voice, something seemed to click in the Centurion's mind. His eyes lit up in recognition; perhaps a little fearfully, and he leaned in, studying the prisoner's face for a moment before sputtering in surprise. "Y-your that bard!" He took a good three or four steps back this time, pointing a finger at the prisoner with an almost frantic tone in his voice. "Gag him, quick! Before he sings!"

That was bad. Cacofonix knew that if he was prevented from singing, he would be prevented from talking as well. And he _had_ to be able to talk. There would be absolutely no way out of this if he couldn't. Even then, his chances were very slim. _Horribly_ slim. "No wait!" he cried, trying to back away as a soldier stepped forward to carry out his leader's order. Cacofonix was held in place, surprised a bit by the Romans' strength. "I promise not to sing! I promise! You have my word!" _Barbarians. They don't know what they're missing._

Gracchus Armisurplus stayed where he was; glaring across the tent at the bard. "How can we take your word?" he shot back. "You're a prisoner. You want to escape!" He motioned for the soldier to continue, staying well out of reach in case things should take a turn for the worst.

Cacofonix was desperate. His frustration was starting to rise, and in a rather uncharacteristic burst of anger, he shouted, "Don't you think that if I were going to use my voice to escape that I would have done it by now!" He kicked out at the Roman with the gag, missing him but still succeeding in making his point. Though, to be truthful, Cacofonix had never even thought of using his voice to get away. He always thought of his musical talents as a gift to be cherished; not a weapon to be wielded. And, though he resented the implications, it wasn't all that bad a suggestion. But the more he thought about it, the more he realized it would never have worked. The minute he opened his mouth to let out a single note, he was sure to be knocked senseless, so it wasn't even worth a try. "I _have_ to speak with you; not waste my voice on your tone-deaf ears!"

The Romans all froze, blinking as they took in his words. They were a little shook up by the Gaul's outburst, having never seen the bard do so before. Of course, it wasn't like they knew him that well. But it was true; if the bard had wanted to take action against them with his _atrocious_ voice, he would have done so immediately. Even so, the Centurion might have ordered him gagged anyway, but for the fact that he caught that almost panicked sound in the bard's voice. The Gauls never panicked...

Waving the guard to back down and leave the prisoner be, Gracchus Armisurplus edged just a tad bit closer. "Then speak, bard." He didn't know why he was being so gracious. Normally, he would have taken the chance of using the skinny fellow to his advantage without a second thought. Maybe using him as a hostage to subdue the rest of the Gauls; or, perhaps, send him back to Rome to Caesar. But, sparkling from behind the prisoner's eyes, he saw an intense fear; a fear he had never witnessed in any of the Gauls before. And, most disturbingly, it was not a fear of _them_. This Gaul was afraid of something else...And it is always wise to stop and listen when those you fear most are frightened. For what could possibly exist that was worse than the village of indomitable Gauls? What could frighten them, if it was not far more dangerous then they themselves?

Truth be told, the Centurion was curious. He wanted to hear what the bard had to say, hoping that it would answer a few, rather distressing questions. For, that morning, in the direction of the Gaulish village, a strange, black cloud had settled. Large and ominous; filled with thunder and lightening, it had been the reason that Gracchus Armisurplus had sent out a patrol to investigate, despite the summer heat. The storm swirling in the forest was fierce and unnatural, appearing out of nowhere and forming above the village so quickly that it had left the Romans speechless.

"Tell me, Gaul; does this have something to do with the dark magic?"

Cacofonix blinked, not fully comprehending his meaning at first. "...W-What?...Ah, I-" He tilted his head. "Dark magic?"

"Yes!" the Centurion shouted accusingly. He was trying to regain his courageous image with his men. He had let his fear of the bard show, and he knew he had to restore his dignity as soon as humanly possible. "You Gauls can't fool the Empire! What is that darkness that has gathered over your village? A new weapon to use against us?!"

The bard seemed to finally catch on. Of course, the storm! Naturally the Romans had spotted it. A monstrosity like that could probably be seen for miles, especially when viewed from one of Compendium's tall towers. But the Romans, who didn't have druids of their own, couldn't tell the difference between Getafix's _good_ magic and a much more sinister kind that belonged to Mastix. The bard shook his head vigorously. "That's not our druid," Cacofonix rebuked defensively. "We're being attacked."

That caught the attention of every Roman present. Who would dare attack the Gauls? And who were they that this particular Gaul was so afraid?

"Attacked?" Gracchus Armisurplus scoffed, trying to appear disinterested. "By whom?"

Cacofonix knew he would have to paint the situation as dark as possible; which, under the circumstances, was't too hard a task. Things had been generally going downhill since Mastix had first arrived. And they would only get worse if something wasn't done about it. "A powerful man of evil and magic. Please, you have to let me go! I have to go get help before it's too late!" He pulled against the arms that held him, using it as a visible gesture, since his hands weren't free to do so. His entire body was buzzing with the need to get away, and yet he couldn't do anything other than plead his case. And his frustration was easily readable.

The Centurion seemed surprised, before his face slipped into an expression of smirking confidence. "Why should that be of any concern to us?" he chuckled nastily. "You Gauls have been a thorn in our side for years. Why should I let you go, when we have a chance to let someone defeat you all for us? It's a great opportunity. We stay safe within the walls of our camp, while your people fall at the hands of our...ally."

The bard felt his anger reach a new height as the Roman's words sank in. Had he really expected any different? The Romans hated the Gauls; and the Gauls didn't think to highly of them either. But to kick them when they were already down; to let them suffer at the hands of Mastix for their own personal goal, was downright abhorable. The Gauls would never do that. While they might bash the Romans now and again, they never did serious injury to anyone. "Listen to me!" Cacofonix growled angrily. "This man is no ally of yours; anymore than he is of ours! He is no ally of anyone but himself. He wants only power. And the more power he gains, the more he will _want_. He won't be satisfied with just defeating us. If we fail to stop him, he will turn to you; and you won't stand a chance. Then he'll fix his evil eyes on all of Rome. He will conquer your capital, and there won't be a thing you can do about it! He'll kill us all!"

The bard was breathing heavily, shaking with anger. He tried to calm down, but realized that his emotions were having an effect on his captors. The sincere ring in his tone, mixed with the undeniable desperation, had caught their attention and was holding it. The bard had just released all the fears and anxieties that had been growing in his mind ever since Mastix had first shown himself to be a threat. Did Cacofonix know any of those claims for sure? No. But they could be that far off. Getafix had once told him that those who seek power are never satisfied. Just like Julius Caesar would never be happy until he had conquered all that there was to conquer; and even then, would he truly be happy? Mastix was sure to be the same way; the only difference being that he had success closer at hand. He would never settle with defeating the Gauls. He would never share the world with another power. Rome would have to fall; the bard was sure of it.

At Cacofonix's words, the soldiers and their leader paled. Gracchus Armisurplus looked unsteadily into the bard's clear, blue eyes. "Surely he wouldn't-" He trailed off, seeming to push his doubts aside. "You're bluffing."

_That's_ _it_. The bard strained against the hands of his guards, intense hostility now fully evident in his voice. He'd fight them here and now if he had to; with or without the Magic Potion! "By Belenos and Toutatis! I am telling you the truth! If you don't believe me, send a patrol out into that storm, Centurion! Send them out! But you'd better bid them farewell, because they won't be coming back! I've seen what this man can do...And they won't be coming back...'' His voice faded to a low, sad murmur; suddenly looking very tired. Exhausted even. His struggles against his captors had been in vain. His strength was far too depleted by this point to be anything more than a bother. But his words were still having a far greater effect.

For the first time since the prisoner's arrival, the Centurion took in the Gaul's overall appearance. He wasn't dressed in his usual attire, the Roman realized. The Gauls seemed to have a habit of wearing the same style of outfit, no matter how many years went by. And he distinctly remembered that the bard's color of choice had been blue. Today, the fellow was garbed in a mix of green, brown, and white. That had been part of the reason why Gracchus Armisurplus had not recognized Cacofonix at first. The clothes were far too large for the thin, lanky fellow; the material constantly trying to slip off his shoulders. They also appeared dirty and wet; soaked in fact. It clung to the bard heavily, and even his blond hair drooped with the moisture's weight. The bard's arms and legs had been scratched, leaving numerous cuts along his rather pale skin. He was swaying on his unsteady feet, and it was slowly becoming more and more apparent that he might collapse at any moment. In truth, the Gaul looked terrible; almost sick.

Gracchus Armisurplus began to wonder if there might be some truth in the bard's words. The Gaul had all the reason in the world to lie, that was true. But, somehow, that didn't add up. The Gauls had always been a people of their word. While it was true that they were cunning, and wouldn't hesitate to cause chaos among the Roman ranks through trickery and schemes, they had never lied outright. When it came to speaking truthfully, or keeping their word, the Gauls took the action very seriously. And, despite their differences, the Romans saw that as a rather honorable quality, especially when their higher ups in Rome were so much the opposite. Many a politician or official had given their word and broken it; almost as though it were a part of the occupation. But not the Gauls. Enemies to the Empire though they were; if there was one thing that they were not, it was liars.

The Centurion held a hand to his chin, rubbing it thoughtfully as he passed back and forth in front of the prisoner once or twice. Raising an eyebrow, he turned sharply, jabbing a finger into the Gaul's chest; whose clothes were cold and wet. "Assuming that we believe this...story; how would you Gauls defeat this man if he has even the powerful ability to control the weather?" He waved a hand in the direction of the village, where both sides knew there raged a terrible storm.

Cacofonix saw no reason to lie."I'm traveling off to get help from the druids, who might be able to assist us. The man was once one of their own." He didn't mention that the druids resided in the Carnutes. He couldn't remember whether that was common knowledge or not, and he didn't want to put the druids in danger.

The Centurion made a face of disapproval. "Might? You don't know whether they will or not?"

"No. Nor are we certain that they _can_."

The Roman leader frowned, shaking his head. "There's an awful lot of uncertainty in your plan. How would we profit by letting you go? You might fail, and then we'd be no better off than if we had kept you. This dark magician might leave us be. You don't know what will happen. How do I know I wouldn't get more out of sending you to Rome than in letting you go free?" He stuck out his already protruding chin, as though he were challenging the bard to prove him wrong. But his stubborn, defiant air shriveled under the serious gaze of the Gaul; who spoke with a calm that seemed almost unnatural after his outburst only a few moments before.

"Centurion, I assure you, if you don't let me go, there might not be a Rome to send me to." He looked about him, making eye contact with a few of the other Romans. "Do you really want to be responsible for the fall of your own Empire?"

That was about all Gracchus Armisurplus could handle. Whether the Gaul was lying, telling the truth, or just downright insane; it wasn't worth the risk of being blamed for any disaster that might result from...whatever was happening. This was obviously a Gaulish matter; and, perhaps, it should stay as one. They didn't understand the relationship between druids and Gauls, nor how they related to Rome, other than that the druid Getafix clearly wasn't on their side. Did the Centurion really want to get involved in this? And what if the bard was right? What if this strange, powerful druid turned on them next? Surely, if the man could defeat the Gauls; the _indomitable_ Gauls, how much of a chance would they have? This whole situation was causing more problems for them than they wanted, just in theory! What would happen if they interfered? Oddly enough, if anyone could stop such a madman as this druid fellow obviously was, it was the Gauls. But if the village's only chance lay with this one bard, then it was not only important to the Gauls that he get through; but to the Romans as well. That settled it.

Shaking his head in disbelief of what he was about to do, Gracchus Armisurplus gave a low, irritable order. "Release him."

The legionaries all stared at him with dumbstruck expressions; finding it hard to believe they had heard him correctly. One blinked slowly, asking with deep hesitation, "...R-release him?"

"Release him!" the Centurion snapped, crossing his arms back over his chest. It was bad enough that he had to give the order at all; did he have to repeat it over and over for these pebblebrains? His men gave a jump, saluting as they carried out his words immediately.

"Yes, Centurion!"

Cacofonix rubbed his wrists as soon as the guards let go of them. While the Romans might not be terribly strong, fear had lent the legionaries strength; causing nasty bruises were their fingers had wrapped tightly around the bard's wrists. It felt good to be out of their hands. But, for perhaps the first time in a long while, Cacofonix felt grateful to the Romans. They really had no proof of anything he had told them; and yet, they were letting him go free. Maybe he had a better skill of talking his way out of trouble than he had originally thought.

Gracchus Armisurplus sat wearily in his wooden seat behind his table, resting an elbow on the surface as he gently rubbed his temple. He had a dreadful headache coming on. Glancing up at the bard he shifted his other hand in a dismissive gesture. "Go, quickly; before I change my mind. May the gods give you speed, especially if this threat is as dangerous as you say." As an afterthought, he added, "To where do you travel?"

"Four hundred kilometers Southeast from here." Again the bard left out the name of his destination, but the Centurion didn't seem to notice.

"Four hundred kilometers?!" he cried. "We'd all be dead by the time you returned!" Pointing to one of his soldiers who was standing behind the bard he shouted, "You there! Fetch a horse from the stables!" The fellow shot off to do as he was ordered. Turning back to Cacofonix, Gracchus Armisurplus explained. "This should cut your travel time in half. When you are finished with the beast, set him loose. He knows his way back here on his own." He fixed the bard with a formidable glare. "Do not get used to this hospitality, Gaul; I do it only for the good of the Empire."

Cacofonix nodded, knowing full well that this act of 'kindness' was only for the Roman's personal goal; but he was still grateful. "Thank you, all the same."

The legionary returned outside the tent leading a beautiful, white mare. Cacofonix was a little frightened by it at first, having never ridden a horse in his life. But he was certain that an animal with four legs would travel much faster than a worn out bard with only two. He'd manage. After climbing up onto the horse's bare back (the Romans had stripped it of anything valuable, including any riding gear), Cacofonix gave the Centurion a civil nod, which, to his surprise, was returned. Giving the horse a nervous nudge with his foot, the bard found that the beast was well trained, and that he would be able to direct it without too much trouble. Riding a little unsteadily, Cacofonix left the Romans behind, finally breathing normal again when he passed out through the gates to the forest once more.

Behind him, in one of Compendium's several towers, Centurion Gracchus Armisurplus stood with a few of his men, watching as the bard moved as swiftly from view as possible. The Roman leader felt rather annoyed, mostly because he knew he had lost to the bard. They had engaged in a battle of reasoning, and, oddly enough, the Gaul had won. It was a dent in the Centurion's pride, to be sure. But it was an event he was determined to leave in the past as soon as possible. Turning to his men he waved a stiff, warning finger under their noses. "Not a word of this to anyone or I'll send you all to the games. Understand?"

Their answers were quick and in perfect unison.

"Yes, Centurion!"


	20. Finally Assisted

_THUMP!_

The bard hit the ground with a gasp, his mind reeling as he was roughly jolted awake. It was dark; the only light visible at all being the twinkling points of the far off stars. The air was warm and pleasant; filled with dew, which clung to everything, including Cacofonix. But now he was even wetter. The moisture from the tall grass he had landed in, soaked into his clothes, which thankfully had dried during the last day or so. Now, he was drenched once more, and struggling to his feet, tried to get his bearings. The bard had just learned a very important lesson; that you don't fall asleep while riding a horse. But he hadn't been able to help himself. Even before he had left the village, Cacofonix had not been sleeping well; no one had been. And then, after all the excitement with Mastix and the Romans; it had left him drained, as well as feeling a bit ill. He had not slept since leaving his home; nor had he eaten. The sack of food given him by Impedimenta had been confiscated by the legionaries, and Cacofonix had not requested for them to give it back when he left their camp. He was lucky they had listened to him at all, and was afraid that, if he asked too much of them, the Romans would have changed their minds. The horse had been a gracious gesture; pushing for anything further might have been a mistake. And so he had had nothing to eat or drink since leaving the village. And he was beginning to feel its effect wearing away at him.

It had been a day and a night since he had left Compendium, and, by the position of the stars and the subtle hint of gold starting to glow in the East, it was nearly morning of the second day. Holding a hand to his aching head, Cacofonix finally concluded that his horse, or rather, the Roman's horse, had taken off into the forest; probably frightened when the bard had fallen. It had scampered further into the woods; more than likely halfway back to Compendium by now. Cacofonix was far too tired to go looking for it, and he knew he couldn't waste the time to do so. Not when time was such a precious thing for not only him, but the other Gauls.

Tucking his hand down the front of his tunic, Cacofonix once again pulled out the folded parchment that was Getafix's map. It had seen much better days by this point. All the moisture the bard had come in contact with the past few days had finally soaked in, leaving dirty-looking rings of brown wherever it had dried before getting wet again. The water had caused it to crinkle, and it felt almost brittle; but, amazingly, the ink had stayed nearly perfectly intact. A few words had run a little, but they were still easily readable. Turning the map right-side-up, Cacofonix began to try and determine where he had come to. He was mad at himself for falling asleep. The bard hated that he was slowly losing control over himself as exhaustion began to take its toll. His body literally ached, not only from being tired, but also from riding. He had never ridden a horse before; not really, and certainly not for so far a distance. Truth be told, the horse's swaying motion and bumping gait had made the bard quite sore. Cacofonix has never liked horses all that much to begin with. They were far to large and heavy for his liking. He was always afraid of being stepped on, or thrown. Of course, the Roman's horse hadn't done either, and it was his fault that he had fallen; but his experience this day certainly wouldn't encourage him to make a habit of riding horses if he could help it.

Matching the compass on the map with the few faint stars he could still see in the lightening sky, Cacofonix faced due East. His eyes wandered over the scrawls and sketches that Getafix had scattered all over the parchement. The druid was actually quite artistic, his drawings giving perfect representations of the real landmarks; or so they had been thus far. But now, the bard found that he was lost. His short nap had probably allowed the horse to wander, and he no longer knew where he was; whether he should continue East or...some other direction. Cacofonix ran a rather shaky hand through his blond hair, lifting his tired eyes from the map to take a glance at his surroundings. None of which resembled any of the points on the parchment, even remotely.

Realizing that he couldn't head back, since he wasn't even sure from where he had come, the bard decided to continue East. Carefully. Maybe he would come across some civilization. At least then he would be able to find out where he was. But the likelihood of finding a village out here was quite slim. Cacofonix was pretty sure that, according to maps he had seen in the past, and if he was where he thought he was, there were relatively no people for many miles all around. It was more than likely that he was in the Carnutes, since it was such a large region; but finding the _Druids_ of the Carnutes would be far more of a challenge. He would just have to walk about until he found them. The idea wasn't a welcome one, but he really could not think of any other way. And so, with a frustrated sigh, the bard stumbled along the various wooded paths that criss-crossed all throughout the forest, trying to choose those that headed in an Easterly direction.

Cacofonix was actually doing far better than he was giving himself credit for. Though the horse had indeed wandered, it had not gotten too far off track; not nearly as much as Cacofonix was imagining it had. He was in the Forest of the Carnutes; the very fringes of its Western border, which, in all rights, was exactly where he wanted to be. The woods were calm and peaceful; and had a sort of safety overlaying it that reminded the bard a lot of Getafix's Neutralizing Spell. Of course, that really should not have surprised him. It made sense that the druids might set up similar protection spells around the forest in which they lived. And though that was comforting to Cacofonix, it also reminded him of the urgency that drove his mission.

Heading East in a zig-zag pattern, Cacofonix walked among the tall oaken trees that surrounded him. He kept tripping over raised roots and twigs, his exhaustion impeding on his focus and energy. His feet dragged with each step and, in all honesty, he no longer worried about the effects it was having on his shoes; wearing them thinner and thinner. The sun had risen, and it was now shining down through the treetops, casting shifting outlines of light and shadow on the grass and paths. He would have found it quite beautiful; worthy of an ode or sonnet, except he was too tired to care. His body was moving on its own by this point; travelling solely on the ever present fear of failing to get help in time to save the villagers.

How long he went on like that, Cacofonix wasn't certain. It felt as though he had traveled to the end of the world and back, multiple times over. He was frustrated, tired, and a nearly overwhelming sense of failure and hopelessness was beginning to well up inside him. Was this how Asterix felt sometimes? When things happened beyond the small warrior's control? It must be. What a horrible feeling...The bard was just about to break down in despair when, all at once, a voice called out from his left.

"Ho there! Are you lost?"

Turning, Cacofonix's legs almost gave out in relief. There, standing not six meters from him, stood a man who was unquestionably a druid. His long white beard and mustache, along with the pure white garb of their people, testified to nothing else. Cacofonix had finally managed to stumble upon his destination. The druid was giving him a curious look, as though he weren't quite sure of what to make of the bard. He was dressed in the usual clothing; white robe tied around his waist with a fine cord. His beard was far shorter than Getafix's; implying that perhaps this fellow was quite a few years younger. Though, even so, the druid was still much, much older than Cacofonix; by several decades. He wore a cape of blue about his shoulders, but, unlike their own druid, Cacofonix noted the absence of a golden sickle.

Stepping forward, the bard made his way toward the man, but was stopped in his tracks by the druid's sudden command.

"Halt. You can come no further. You cannot pass into the Carnutes unless you are of druidic blood."

Cacofonix was confused. Wasn't he already in the Carnutes? Or perhaps, the Forest of the Carnutes was not quite the same as _the Carnutes,_ the druidic domain. That must be it. The forest was called the same as the fortress; though, by outsiders they were considered one and the same. The bard vaguely remembered Getafix once telling Asterix that only druids were allowed inside the place; a strict rule that even Getafix counted as important and followed with loyal strictness.

But the Gaul was determined; stubborn to do what he had traveled so far to accomplish. Wringing his hands in obvious agitation, he tried to break through the druid's stoic barrier with a plea. "My name is Cacofonix. I have traveled all the way from my village in Gaul to meet with your leader. Please, you have to let me in."

The fellow shook his head, unmoved by the conviction in the bard's voice. "No non-druids are permitted to enter beyond this point." He gestured behind him at a part of the forest that was far denser than the rest. It looked intimidating; impenetrable. Its oaks and tall shrubs made it seem like it were an ancient place; filled with secrets. The druid's stern face faltered slightly at the downcast expression that flitted across the Gaul's own. "I am sorry."

Cacofonix wasn't ready to give up yet. Looking back and forth between the man and the trees behind the druid, he searched his mind for another possibility. He respected the druidic customs, and had been taught by Getafix to regard them with understanding, as all the villagers had been; but his fear for his friends was overriding his concern for rituals and ceremonies."Then can you send for the great Chief Venerable Druid to come out to meet with me?" he tried desperately. He saw the shadow of thoughtful consideration cross the druid's face, which made him try even harder. "Please, it's urgent! I must speak with him! It's a matter of saving lives!"

"He is in a meeting with the Council. It may not be possible to-"

"Oh, for Toutatis sake! Just try!" Cacofonix could feel his body beginning to shut down on him. He had been pushing himself far too hard. A wave of dizziness swept over him, causing him to shakily sink into a kneel. "Please...tell him that I was sent by Getafix." He felt sick; suffering from far too little nourishment and rest. But he had not come all this way to turn around empty handed. By Toutatis, he'd fight even the druids before he let that happen!

The druid seemed to weigh the bard's words, as well as his obviously poor condition. He wanted to help; but he also knew he must obey the rules. This man had come so far; could he really just turn him away? Coming to a swift decision, the fellow stooped to lay a gentle hand on the Gaul's shoulder. "I will tell him. Wait here." With that, he straightened and hurried off into the forest.

Leaving a shaky, exhausted Cacofonix alone; kneeling in the damp grass. Waiting.

* * *

Deep below ground, under the sacred forest of the Druids, a meeting was being held in the Great Hall of the Carnute Fortress. The enormous, rectangular room was lit with innumerable torches and candles, bathing all around with a warm, golden glow. Shadows danced off and against the walls and pillars, but not the ceiling; that was far too high for the light to reach, and was instead shrouded in inky blackness. Breakfast had already been served and cleared, all the druid students having left to attend to their duties both within and without the fortress. The elders, however, stayed seated at the large center table. The torchlight gleamed in their eyes; the illumination of their faces showing the furrowed brows and concerned expressions.

It had been like this for the past few days. Ever since their friend and fellow druid, Getafix, had left them; they had been in nearly constant council. Whether it was discussing the problem, or simply awaiting for news of what might be happening outside their homeland, it didn't matter. Both situations were tied to the mind-numbing task of being patient; a skill that druids prided themselves in.

They weren't really sure what it was they were expecting to hear. Rumors of Mastix's return could be nothing more than just that; rumors...but, somehow, no one supported that theory in the least. Mastix _had_ returned. Of that they were certain. They were also certain that the dark druid would go after Getafix and his Magic Potion. It was logical; founded by both reason and facts. Mastix craved nothing more than power and revenge. While that frightened even the must stoic among them, they remained patient. Worried, but patient. Getafix would send them word some way or another. For all they knew, nothing might have happened; in which case their anxiety would be unfounded. It was the belief among the druids that one must only act when certain. And they were very uncertain. And so, they refused to act. They would wait for word from Getafix before anything would be done regarding the situation.

But that didn't keep the atmosphere within the Carnutes from growing darker with the tense anticipation that had seemed to settle throughout them all. Every druid, except for those who were too young to remember, recalled that fateful night all those many nights ago, when Prolix was murdered by one of their own. The images of that horrific night still played in their minds; and, despite their strong grips on their emotions, even they found it hard to keep the depressing, fearful feelings at bay.

The Venerable Druid stood at the head of the Hall's great table. He and the other druids had already discussed all they could, coming to the same conclusion again and again. They could do nothing, for they knew nothing. All their worry might be based on speculation, which was not satisfactory in the least. Now, they awaited in silence, each man left with his own depressed thoughts. Beside the leader, Valuaddetax sat in especial misery.

The elders were all startled when the door to the Hall suddenly groaned loudly, allowing one of the younger students to enter. The fellow padded quickly across the floor, his feet making soft shuffling sounds in the quiet. He closed the distance quickly, coming to a halt before his leader, giving a hurried bow of reverence. "My apologies, O Venerable Druid," he whispered, though the echo-filled room made it loud enough for all to hear. "But there is a Gaul outside our borders who wishes to speak with you."

The Venerable Druid looked surprised, but curious; glad for a distraction. "Speak with me?" he inquired. "And what about? We have no connections to the non-druids at this time."

The younger druid shook his head, his bewilderment evident in his face. "Apparently we do, O Druid; he claims he was sent by the Druid Getafix."

At the name of their friend, the elders sat up ramrod straight. Their eyes widened as they realized that this might be just the news they had so anxiously been awaiting. The Venerable Druid turned his full attention to the younger man. "Getafix?"

"Yes, O Druid. That is what he said."

"Hmm. I shall see him at once. " The Venerable Druid sent the others a glance before he started purposefully toward the door. He was a little cautious; since there could be little proof in knowing whether this Gaul spoke truth, or whether it was some sort of trap. While the Druids were well liked by the old tribes and clans of the world, they were greatly disliked by all others. They were seen as barbarians, and lies were spread about them; installing fear of their kind that was completely unfounded*. This could very well be an attack; it had been known to happen. But this time, the Venerable Druid didn't feel that that was the case. He took hold of the large, iron ring on the great, oaken doors of the Hall. Turning back he gave a quick command. "I have a feeling that this may get us some answers. Be prepared to take action, but stand by on my word."

"Bring a few remedies above ground with you," the student called quickly. "The boy seems to have been taken ill."

That warning was quickly followed by a loud request and the stumbling footsteps of one particular druid. "Wait! O Venerable Druid, may I accompany you?" It was Valuaddetax. "I have been concerned for my friend Getafix since he left the meeting nearly five days ago. If this Gaul has any news from him, I would greatly like to hear it." As an afterthought he quickly added, "I am also somewhat of a healer; so I may be able to help this Gaul as well."

The Venerable Druid smiled to himself before turning to face his younger friend. The British druid was standing almost directly behind him, hands clasped in front of his stomach and awaiting permission to go with him up to the surface. "I am fully aware of your medicinal practices, Valuaddetax, and we may certainly have need of them. Accompany me. Let us see what word this fellow has for us."

* * *

Cacofonix was beginning to wonder if he had been forgotten. He remained in exactly the same position he had been when the druid had left him; kneeling in the grass and trying not to faint. For that was how he was feeling. The dizziness had not improved, despite that he was no longer standing. But he was afraid to lie down; he might not be able to get back up again if he did. The ache in his limbs was nearly unbearable now; sending wave after wave of dull, throbbing pain. He really had worked himself too hard. Between running, meeting the Romans, and riding a horse halfway across the country; he was far beyond exhausted. And then there had been the spell Mastix had used against him. That had been painful, but the remaining effects of weakness and soreness were equally unpleasant. Maybe even more so. It gave him a whole new perspective on Mastix's attacks on Asterix.

The bard was about to try and rise to his feet and march into the Carnutes, despite the regulations and ritualistic nonsense. At least, that was how he saw them at the moment. Weighed against the possibility of losing his friends, no rule was going to stop him if it meant saving the village. It probably wouldn't have worked out well, but thankfully it never came to such drastic measures.

There was a soft sound of feet walking over flattened grass, before two druids walked into sight from between the tall, ancient oaks. One was tall and stately, seeming to glide over the ground with a steady, unwavering stride. The other fellow, a rather pudgy druid, was short and stout; scurrying after the first with rapid, stumbling steps. The later seemed a bit nervous, while the first walked up to the kneeling Gaul without any visible hesitation.

"Greetings, Gaul," he spoke carefully, stopping a few feet in front of the bard. He was studying him, determining whether he might be a threat or not. Seeing that the young man was no such thing, he moved closer to kneel by the Gaul, worry replacing his stern expression. "Are you ill?"

Cacofonix purposefully ignored the question. He would worry about his own health later; right now he had a mission. "Are you the Chief Venerable Druid?" he asked a little breathlessly. He tried to rise, but the druid motioned for him to stay and signaled the other druid to come closer.

"I am," he smiled. Gesturing to his companion who was just coming to kneel as well, he added, "And this is Valuaddetax, my colleague and fellow druid. He is also a-"

"Oh, Sir!" Cacofonix felt such a wave of relief wash over him he almost believed he might cry. "I'm so glad to have found you! I have-" Suddenly he was assaulted with a harsh fit of coughing; each one causing his muscles to tense painfully even more than they already were. It took his breath away, making the fit worse.

Valuaddetax snatched a satchel from his side, rummaging around inside it before pulling out a small, blue vial with a cork in its top. Removing the stopper, he held the container in the Gaul's hand, supporting the fellow's back as the bard struggled to catch his breath. "Now, now, chap," he soothed gently. "Take it easy. Here, drink this."

Cacofonix wasn't too keen on taking potions from any druid other than Getafix. But with how he was feeling, it wouldn't be long before the bard wouldn't care. But these people were colleagues of the village's druid. Getafix would never send him to anyone who would cause him harm. And he had heard Getafix mention Valuaddetax's name before, a long while back; speaking very highly of him. There couldn't be any harm in trying the potion. Anything would be better than the aches and pains that racked his body now. Shakily, Cacofonix lifted the bottle to his lips and took a small sip. It tasted strange, though, not unpleasant like he had been expecting. It was cool and moist; soothing all the way down his throat. Immediately, Cacofonix felt his muscles relax, and his dizziness decrease.

The druid encouraged him to take a few more sips before he was satisfied. The Venerable Druid crouched on the opposite side of the bard, taking in his overall appearance. The Gaul looked exhausted; weak and was shaking badly. His clothes, which were oddly far too large for him, were wrinkled and had a lot of dried mud and grass caked onto the fabric. His hair was a mess, as though it had been wet before and then dried that way. The fellow was very thin, though the Venerable Druid guessed that that was just the way he was; but it was more than that. He looked sickly; the coughs indicating that that was true. Dark circles under the Gaul's eyes showed that he had not had a good night's sleep for at least two nights. _What has he been through?_ the druid wondered. Out loud he said, "There. Now, you were sent here by my old friend and student Getafix, correct? Tell me, how does he fair?"

Cacofonix felt his pains and quaking lessen as the potion began to take effect. He wasn't sure what it was, but, since it was helping him, it didn't really matter. He turned his attention to the elder druid. "Very poorly, I'm afraid. Our village is under attack and Getafix-"

"Under attack?" Valuaddetax interrupted worriedly. "From who?" Even though he already had an idea as to who it might be, he was afraid to hear the answer, fearing the worst. He wasn't disappointed.

"A druid named Mastix."

Valuaddetax snapped his eyes up from the bard and met the Venerable Druid's gaze, which, while remaining outwardly calm and collected, shone with unexpressed emotion. The Venerable Druid shook his head sadly. "I feared as much. I warned Getafix that the foul man was lurking about." He turned his eyes to Cacofonix. "Though, he was wise to return, I'm sure. But Getafix's power is not nearly as durable as Mastix's own. He needs help. We mustn't waste any time." He assisted in helping Valuaddetax gently lift the Gaul to his feet. The bard wobbled a moment, but quickly regained his footing. "Do you have a horse?"

"No." And Cacofonix was glad to say it. "Not any more."

The Venerable Druid nodded in understanding. "No matter; that is easily supplied. We'll fetch one from the stables. You- er, what was your name?"

"Cacofonix."

"Very well; Cacofonix, you shall ride with me."

Cacofonix was a little taken aback. But, of course, he had known that they would need to ride on the way back. He had just...forgotten. After all the way he had traveled, it was the last thing he wanted to do. But he knew that it was the only way to get back to the village quickly; and that was worth a little discomfort. However, he did not see the need of having to ride with someone else. Druids were such recluse folk; Getafix excluded of course. He felt a little uncomfortable riding with one. "But, I can-"

"No excuses," the elder druid replied sternly. "You are in no condition to ride on your own; you can barely stand. When is the last time you had any rest; or food?"

The bard suddenly looked very guilty. In truth, he could barely remember his last meal. And he really was very tired. "...You're right...I'll ride with you."

"Very good." The Venerable Druid turned to his companion. "Valuaddetax, tell the Council that-"

"Begging your pardon, O Chief Druid," the younger broke in quickly, "but if it is all the same to you, I would like to accompany you and this Gaul back to Getafix. He's my friend, and I am rather worried, you know? If there's anything I can do to help him, I'd much rather be by his side than all the way out here."

The Venerable Druid stroked his long, white beard thoughtfully. "It _would_ strengthen our defenses against Mastix's power...I think that is an honorable suggestion; but you realize this will be dangerous. Mastix is not one to be taken lightly."

How could he forget. "I know. That's exactly why I want to help. Mastix can only have gained power over all these years. The more of our own power we can fight back with, the more of a chance we have of destroying his hold on the Gaulish village. I will come. I understand the risk, and I'm willing to take it. Plus, I'm sure those poor Gauls have had it rough. I'm a healer, among other things. I can help keep them safe."

The elder nodded. "Than that is decided."

"And it would be good to have you on hand, Druid Valuaddetax," Cacofonix chimed in kindly. "Mastix's attacks on Asterix have-"

"Who?" The Venerable Druid seemed to recognize the name. Had Getafix mentioned it before?

Cacofonix turned to him, slightly annoyed at repeatedly being interrupted. "Our village warrior. He's the one Mastix is after."

That lifted the elder's eyebrows in confusion, as well as great concern. "This is strange. Mastix is not after Getafix's Magic Potion?"

Cacofonix shook his head. "He was, when he first arrived; but he changed his mind the day after. Now he wants Asterix. All his spells have been aimed at him, trying to scare or guilt us into handing him over." The bard's worry was renewed by the memories. "So, please; we haven't a moment to lose! I've been gone for far longer than I like already. Toutatis knows what's happening in the village right now!"

The Venerable Druid seemed just as anxious to get going as the Gaul. "We'll head out at once." Turning to Valuaddetax, he gave quick instruction. "Go; tell the others of our plan. Them go and fetch us two horses and some supplies. Take any medical supplies you think you might need." To Cacofonix he asked, "Do you feel well enough to travel?"

Whether he did or didn't, Cacofonix was determined not to be left behind. "Yes, Sir."

"Very well."

Valuaddetax left and than returned shortly, two beautiful white horses in tow. Both beasts were loaded with supplies, strapped snugly to the animals' sides. With slight trepidation, Cacofonix allowed himself to be hoisted up onto the horse, right behind the Venerable Druid. The discomfort he felt about sitting with the elder quickly vanished when they started; the horse lurching forward and prompting the bard to throw his arms about the old man's middle. It was the only way to keep himself from falling off.

The Venerable Druid didn't seem to mind. In fact, the druid had expected that very thing to happen. He had sensed the bard's discomfort at climbing onto the horse, and could feel the way Cacofonix tensed while sitting behind him. The Gaul would calm down eventually; he knew. The druid was, however, distressed at the worn, sickly condition in which Cacofonix had arrived to them. If an escapee from the village was in such bad shape, in what condition would they find those who had stayed behind. Images of the different possibilities flashed in his mind as the two horses and three riders rushed along through the forest at top speed. The dark thoughts made the Venerable Druid urge the beast along even faster.

"I just hope we're not too late..."


	21. Return

Asterix sat, tense and pained on the floor of Vitalstitistix's hut, pressed against the wall at his back. A sharp ache resided in every one of his joints; like pins and needles were being mercilessly shoved through them. It wasn't unbearable; not yet, but the discomfort was increasing. He had tried to hide it from the others at first, especially Obelix. His friend had seen enough of him suffering. But the pain had grown, and someone had bumped against him. The result was Asterix gasping loudly at the sudden wave of agony that shot through him, thereby catching everyone else's attention. In truth, the villagers had been suspecting that something was wrong. Asterix had moved away from them over the last hour or so; separating himself so as not to be touched, or to keep from hurting anyone else. That plan, however, had been in vain.

The children, who had been becoming quite restless after four days of being cooped up indoors, had started a game of indoor tag. They had run about, dodging behind the adults and scampering all around. The Gauls had let them. They could understand their need to release their pent up energy. Even the grown-ups felt as though they would soon have to find ways of discharging their anxiety. The storm still raged outside; rain pouring down in torrents. Most of the Gauls' houses were flooded by that time, with the exception of Cacofonix's tree hut and Vitalstitistix's cottage. The only reason that the Chief's home wasn't flooded like the others was because Obelix and a few of the men had gone out and built a sort of barrier around it. Made of mud, stones, pebbles, and several large menhirs donated for the cause by Obelix, the structure served as a blockade, keeping the streams of water that seemed to flow all throughout the village from seeping in. It had given the men something useful to do; so that they felt as though they weren't completely helpless.

But then one of the children had tripped and fallen against Asterix. Luckily, only against the warrior's clothes, so the child was not burned. But after that, all sense of security was lost. At first they were confused as to how Mastix was managing to get through to their friend. After all, the Neutralizing Spell was still up...wasn't it? But, then they realized, with no small amount of horror, that Getafix was weakening. The druid sat on a stool in the corner, constantly struggling to keep the spell focused over the village. His actions before, to save Cacofonix, had left him very drained. And now, four days later, everything was slowly crumbling out of the druid's control. Getafix had not slept in all that time, afraid that doing so would end it once and for all. He was deathly pale, eyes scrunched up in concentration and effort. His hands were griping his knees, as if the pain of clutching them was the only thing keeping him awake. The villagers wanted to help, but talking to the druid might distract him; and not talking to him increased the chance of him falling asleep. The weakened shield of protection around the Gaulish village was slowly fading, allowing more and more of Mastix's power to leak through, causing more and more discomfort for Asterix.

The blond warrior was set in the corner, sitting atop a cushion of blankets that had been arranged for him. The Gauls tried to make him comfortable, but there was little to be done. Nothing would stop the pain he was feeling. It always came in waves, causing the smaller Gaul to gasp and shudder. The villagers winced visibly at each hiss or sharp intake of air he made, knowing that the pain must be considerable for Asterix to let on about it. But the warrior still hadn't given up. He did his best to reassure them; to help keep them from falling into complete despair, even though he felt very near to it himself. Their only hope was that Cacofonix would return before disaster struck, which was looking closer and closer by the minute. If the bard didn't return soon, things were going to end very badly, very soon.

* * *

The Venerable Druid gazed in grim curiosity at the tremendous storm that raged over the forest before them. Such wind and thunder roared from within it that they had heard it long before it had come into sight. Lightening bolts of blue and purple sent great zagging lines through the ominous clouds, lighting up the blackness with violent flashes of electricity. It sent shock waves of dark, powerful magic toward the three travelers; something that unsettled the two druids greatly. It reminded them so much of Mastix's attack on the Carnutes all those many years ago, filling their minds with unwanted images and memories. Mastix had obviously gained strength since that time; his power was far beyond anything that resided in the order of the Druids, nor anywhere else that they knew of. This was a storm empowered by rage, malice, and a deep hunger for revenge. It was a terrifying sight.

The two horses and their three passengers had crossed the distance between the Carnutes and their destination in only a day, a night, and a morning; just as Cacofonix had before. The Venerable Druid, thankfully, knew the way; though how was a mystery. Perhaps, as a leader among scholars, he was far more familiar with the geography of Gaul and its surrounding territories than most. And it was a good thing, for Cacofonix was of little help. The bard had drifted into a heavy sleep shortly after leaving the Carnutes, courtesy of Valuaddetax's potion. The younger druid had seen the exhaustion and tenseness in the Gaul's body, and had at once decided that he would do what he must to bring the bard some relief. The potion had contained a rather primitive mix of painkiller powder, sedative brew, and a touch of sleep potion. Apparently more of a 'touch' than Valuaddetax had thought. Within an hour of traveling, the Venerable Druid could feel the bard slowly sink forward, pressing into his back as Cacofonix gently succumbed to the potion's effects. The elder druid made sure that the thin fellow remained on the horse; not wanting the bard to fall and get injured. Getafix wouldn't be pleased if he let that happen. Even in slumber, Cacofonix kept his arms firmly wrapped around the druid's middle, as though he subconsciously remembered that he was being carried at breakneck speed through the forest on a horse's back.

But now, as the two druids stared, transfixed by the storm that raged like a mighty beast in front of them, they knew they would need the bard's assistance for the last leg of their journey. Valuaddetax quickly slid down from his perch, running forward to help the Venerable Druid. The elder druid moved off the beast carefully, allowing Cacofonix to lean forward against the horse's neck as he, himself, dismounted. Then, with his companion's assistance, together they reached up and lowered the bard down, trying to rouse him as they did. After a moment of gently shaking him and patting his face, Cacofonix became all at once very awake. He almost stumbled back away from them, and might have fallen if not for the firm hold both men had on his arms.

"Easy there, lad," Valuaddetax said reassuringly, patting the bard's hand to let him know everything was fine. "You fell asleep, and we just needed to wake you. How do you feel? Better?" He wanted to make sure the Gaul wasn't ill from the potion. That happened sometimes; someone would take a bit of some potion or other and then feel sick from it later on. But this fellow was young, compared to those in the Carnutes, and quite healthy. The bard was indeed looking quite a bit better know that he had been allowed to rest. He was still weak, since he had still not eaten any substantial meals. They hadn't been able to stop for food on their journey, but the potion had protected the bard from becoming overly hungry. Otherwise he would never have made it. Valuaddetax planned to remedy the fellow's fast the minute he had the chance.

Cacofonix nodded a little drowsily, trying to shake the last few residual effects of the potion's power. He really did feel much better, though, once his head would clear he'd be even more so. Shaking his head, his mind finally came back to full capacity. Looking about him, he realized they had traveled further than he had imagined. Then his eyes landed on the storm; its great power and brute strength awakening in him the horrors he had come to know so well over the past several days. "The village!" he cried, moving forward as though to waltz right through to the Gauls' very gates. But the druids held him back.

"Now, just a moment, Cacofonix," the Venerable Druid insisted kindly, amused by the way that the bard's attention snapped back to him at the use of his name. Cacofonix had apparently not expected the druid to remember it. "We can't just run into that without first figuring out a way to get through without being caught. In order to do that, I need you to answer a few questions. Is that alright?"

The bard seemed a little hesitant, turning his gaze in the direction of his village worriedly.

"The quicker we talk, the sooner we can help them," the elder pressed gently, reading the fellow's anxious expression. He understood what it felt like to be helpless under Mastix's powerful wrath; standing by and seeing one's home in danger and feeling like nothing could be done to fix what was being harmed. He had felt that way long ago, when Prolix had died, and the Carnutes had been destroyed. He saw the same painful terror brimming in the bard's heart as he had felt then. But that didn't change the fact that they had to be cautious. Cautious and slow; taking each step carefully, and planned in advance.

Cacofonix nodded, tearing his gaze away from his home to give the Venerable Druid his full attention. "What is it you want to know?"

"You mentioned that Mastix has been attacking you're village. Since, at least when you were there, the village was still standing, I assume Getafix has some sort of protection around the place. Correct?"

The bard nodded again. "Yes, Sir. He set up a sort of Neutralizing Spell to cancel out any magic that tried to make it through."

"Hmm. Must be one of his own concoctions; I've never heard of that one. Has it worked well?"

"As far as I know." Cacofonix's face was still laced with worry. "But it's somehow connected to Getafix; draining him. He said it wouldn't hold for very long...and that was nearly four days ago." A look of defeat flashed into his expression, piercing the druid's heart with pity. "How could they have lasted this long?" The bard's voice echoed the hopelessness that shone dimly in his eyes.

Valuaddetax exchanged a glance with his elder, before laying a hand gently on the Gaul's shoulder. "Don't give up just yet. If I know Getafix, he'll keep fighting until he can no longer do so. He cares a lot for you people; his devotion to your village shows that. He won't let you down." He smiled. "I'm sure that they're alright."

The Venerable Druid nodded, though a little impatiently. "And we'll make sure of that as soon as we can get to them. Now, how were you able to get out without Mastix getting hold of you?"

Cacofonix looked a little embarrassed. "Well, I didn't. I mean, I got caught in one of Mastix's spells, but Getafix broke it so that I could get away."

"With the protection spell?"

"Yes."

The elder became thoughtful, stroking his long, white beard. "Then if we put up a spell of our own, we should be able to get in. It will work until we are under this Neutralizing Spell."

The bard's eyes opened wide nervously. "W-what kind of spell?" This whole incident with Mastix had shaken a lot of the Gauls' faith in any other magic other than Getafix's; and Cacofonix was no exception. Try as he might, the thin musician could not get over dreadful fear of uncertainty; whether a spell would help them or hurt them. These druids may be friends of Getafix, but that didn't matter; the fear was still there. If it was just him, the bard might have refused...but it wasn't just him. They had an entire village waiting for them to arrive. He didn't have any other choice.

The Venerable Druid did not notice the Gaul's apprehension. "Just something to mask us from Mastix's detection. I believe I have one that should do the trick. Is there a secret way into your village?"

"Yes; there's a hidden side gate," Cacofonix affirmed. "It's what I used when I left." He all at once went slightly paler. "But it latches from the inside."

Valuaddetax nodded, not appearing the least bit worried. "We will have to face that problem when we come to it. They're expecting you to come back; they must have someone on the lookout."

"That's right," the Venerable Druid second. "There's sure to be someone to let us in. Now, come." He opened a satchel of his own, already busy pulling several vials from within it and handing them to the other two. "This will only take a moment. Then we can help your friends."

Cacofonix nodded, still hoping that they weren't too late.

* * *

Obelix sat on a stump in the rain near the hidden gate. The bitter cold really didn't bother him, another amazing resistance that the Magic Potion's lasting affects had given him. He could manage for quite a long time in harsh weather like this, without any trouble; which was why he had volunteered to take most of the day's shift. Since Cacofonix had left the village, the men had taken turns keeping watch over the side gate in the wall, anxiously anticipating the bard's return. But the cruel weather was not kind to many of the Gauls, and a few had even caught colds from standing out in the frigid rain too long. That was why Obelix had stepped forward to take over. The weather didn't bother him. He could stand outside all night long without a problem. Not that he liked sitting out alone in the dark, rainy world; but it was better than anyone else doing it.

The biggest downside to the task was that Obelix was separated from Asterix. He would have much rather have been sitting with his friend, even if it really didn't do anything. The large Gaul had witnessed both the warrior and the druid's decline in health. Getafix was on his last leg, struggling to fight on will alone. He was forced to sit apart from the others, trying to concentrate. Asterix had started reacting badly a short time after that. Obelix could tell that Mastix was getting through to him. Even if Asterix was trying his best to deny it; it was true. Both the druid and his friend had sunk into some odd, unresponsive state. They didn't hear you when you tried to talk to them; they just continued to struggle, and it was nearly more than anyone could bare. The dark druid was beginning to weasel in through the cracks in Getafix's defenses; and there was nothing anyone in the village could do about it. And so, Obelix turned his hope on the one Gaul outside of the village.

It felt strange, trusting so much in Cacofonix. Not that the big Gaul didn't think the bard was capable. It was just, he and Asterix were usually the ones out there, getting help; saving the day. He had gotten so used to relying on himself, Obelix found it hard to bring himself to rely on anyone else. But there was no choice. And Cacofonix was no coward. He would do his best, and that was all the Gauls could ask for. That, and a miracle. Yeah; that would be good. A miracle would be a great help right about now.

The raindrops tinked off Obelix's metal helmet, the small cap not really doing much to protect him from the rain. Water just simply landed and then rolled down, flowing into his eyes and dripping off the end of his large, bulbous nose. His pigtails hung heavily upon his chest, weighed down by the water that had soaked them and the black bows that adorned each braid. Obelix didn't even have Dogmatix to keep him company, having insisted that the tiny pup stay indoors where it was dry and safe.

Obelix was just about to head back to Vitalstitistix's hut, to check on how Asterix and Getafix were doing, when, through the insistent patter of rain hitting mud, the menhir deliveryman thought he heard something. It was hard to be sure, over the sound of the wind, but after a moment he heard it again. A sort of rattling, followed by some rather weak, hurried knocks. With a gasp and a lurch, Obelix leaped toward the closed gate; unlatching it and throwing it open.

There was no one there. The large Gaul furrowed his brow, glancing back and forth in confusion. He was just about to close the door again when he heard something that stopped him at once.

"Obelix," an invisible voice hissed urgently, "Move over so we can come through!"

The voice was unmistakably Cacofonix's, but, for the life of him, Obelix couldn't find him. Obelix squinted into the darkness outside the gate, straining to see the bard. The large Gaul then heard someone give a frustrated sigh, before Obelix felt a pressure against his stomach; and still he saw no one. It wasn't a very strong force, in fact, it would never have been sufficient to move him; but curiosity, as well as alarm, caused the big Gaul to allow himself to be pushed aside.

Something unseen entered through the open gate, making splashing sounds in the muck. Then, in a fast, jerky movement, the wooden door was slammed shut and re-latched. Obelix watched, eyes wide and concerned, blinking as though what he was seeing were nothing but a trick in his vision. But then, ever so slowly, he did see something. It started out as a short of lightening shadow; then a definite shape. As he watched, the shapes began to take form. And, within a moment later, a very wet Cacofonix stood before him, flanked by what appeared to be two druids.

"By Toutatis!"

* * *

"Cacofonix is back!"

The villagers, who had been sitting solemnly all around the Chieftain's hut, leaped to their feet at Obelix's joyful cry, their faces reigniting with hope. Obelix raced in through the door, practically carrying the bard in his excited haste to show everyone that his words were true. Setting Cacofonix down on the floor, the big Gaul stepped back as the others swarmed about him, each one anxious to reassure themselves that the bard was alright. No one noticed the two druids who had quietly come through the door to stand on the threshold, awaiting and watching the touching reunion.

The Gauls crowded in, welcoming Cacofonix back with pats, handshakes, and even hugs. Impedimenta pushed her way through, taking note of the sickly pale tint that washed their friend's face. "Stand back! Stand back!" she hollered, pushing people aside bossily. "Give him room to breath! He doesn't look at all well!"

The villagers jumped back at her shout, as if just their proximity to the bard would hurt him further. It was true; Cacofonix looked terrible. He was dirty and worn, evidence of cuts and bruises visible through the tears in his pants and tunic sleeves. Dark circles shadowed beneath his clear blue eyes, and he seemed to sway on his feet as he stood.

Fulliautomatix stepped forward nervously, as did Unhygenix; frightened by the poor condition their friend appeared to be in. "Cacofonix...are you alright?"

"He will be, once you get some food into him." The voice came from behind them. As one, the villagers turned to face the guests that they had failed to notice. The two druids had moved closer since they had first entered. Standing silently, they had observed the exchange between the villagers. The shorter, stouter druid stepped forward to continue. "I gave him some potion to give him the strength to travel back here. He was in pretty bad shape when he reached us."

"Oh, the poor thing," Bacteria whispered sympathetically. In fact, all the women looked as if their hearts would break. The men just looked incredibly guilty.

Impedimenta stepped forward to gently take the bard's arm. "Come with me, Cacofonix. I'll get you something."

"It's not that bad," Cacofonix spoke up weakly. He found he didn't like being at the center of attention; not when their were those in far more need of it than he.

"Nonsense," the taller druid chided, coming forward as well. "You need rest and nourishment. Go." He kept his gaze locked with the Gaulish bard's, until Cacofonix nodded and let himself be led to the kitchen by several of the more motherly women. When he had left, the Venerable Druid turned back to the assembly of Gauls. "He will be fine. But, as I understand it, he is not the only one in need of assistance. Where is Getafix?"

The Gauls flinched, their memories jolted from their joy of seeing Cacofonix and dragged back into the dark, black depression that they had come to know so well. Turning slowly, they all directed their eyes to the corner. There, tense and unconscious to the other druids' presence, sat Getafix. The Venerable Druid nearly lost his calm demeanor when he saw his friend. Getafix looked so...ill. So very worn and ill. It was really a shock to the elder. It was heard to believe that such a change could come over someone so quickly. Getafix had only been in the Carnutes a week ago; as healthy as ever. This was not the same man.

Running forward, the Venerable Druid crouched by his friend's side. "Getafix? Getafix? Can you hear me?" Glancing slightly to the right, the elder found a small, blond-haired Gaul sitting pressed against the wall, curled in on himself in obvious pain. Turning to the gathered assembly he asked, "This is your warrior; Asterix?"

Vitalstitistix stepped forward, his concern showing unfiltered in his expression. "Yes. Yes, he is."

That explained why the short fellow was in such agony. Turning back to his unresponsive friend, the Venerable Druid tried one last time. "Getafix, listen to me. I have come to help; me and Valuaddetax. We can set up a fresh protection spell to keep Mastix out, but in order to do so, you will have to drop yours." If what Cacofonix had told him of Getafix's Neutralizing Spell was accurate, no magic could be performed within its circle. No magic other than that one spell which held it in place. If they were to replace it, they would first need it to fall.

A gasp of fear ran through the villagers; and the Venerable Druid couldn't really blame them. So far, Getafix's spell had been the only thing keeping them safe from Mastix's obvious wrath. To them the idea must have seemed like a death sentence, at least for this Asterix fellow. Mastix's focus was firmly fixed on the little Gaul; the Venerable Druid could feel it. But that would be addressed soon enough. Right now he needed to save Getafix from his own stubbornness.

"Please, Getafix. Look at me!

Whether it was the sternness of his command, or the sound of Getafix's old mentor's voice, it didn't matter. All that mattered was that it worked. Getafix's eyes, which up until now had been scrunched tightly in concentration, snapped open. They were hazy and unfocused, but they were open. And in that gaze the Venerable Druid saw the near panic that resided within them.

"Getafix, do you understand? I need you to lower your protection spell."

After a moment, ever so slightly, Getafix nodded.

"Alright," the elder instructed, "On my word. Valuaddetax, stand by the warrior. He may need your assistance."

"Wait!"

The two newcomers turned to face the same large Gaul who had let them in through the gate. He had come forward protectively; looking as though he would like to snatch the little warrior out of their reach; though, Obelix knew better than to do that. "If Getafix drops the Neutralizing Spell, Mastix will hurt Asterix!"

"He is already hurting him," Valuaddetax answered kindly, though in his heart he knew they did not have time to argue. He understood the Gaul's concern. The younger visitor was now kneeling beside the Gaul, Asterix; ready to assist the moment it was safe to touch the smaller man. "Mastix's power is seeping through. If we don't replace Getafix's spell with a fresh one, your friend will only get worse." He glanced down at the shivering Gaul at his side who seemed completely unaware of what was going on. Valuaddetax's natural tenderness for others rose as he realized the pain someone would have to endure in order to fall into such a catatonic state. "We'll do the switch as quickly as we can."

The big Gaul still didn't look too sure; none of the Gauls did, and it made Valuaddetax a little doubtful himself. What a lot these folks must have been through to be so fearful of the only thing that could save them.

"On my word," the Venerable Druid urged again. The tallest druid reached a hand out and lay it on Getafix's shoulder. Everyone around them tensed; anticipation growing within them. The elder looked his past-student in the eyes, and with great relief he saw Getafix's vision force itself to focus. His friend was putting one last burst of energy and strength into doing what he knew had to be done. Giving a nod, the Venerable Druid gave the command.

"Now!"

Several things happened all at once.

Getafix suddenly went slack, releasing his hold on the Neutralizing Spell. It had been hard to do, since he had been regulating it for so terribly long. It was like when one has been kneeling on the ground for far longer than they should, and then they try to straighten their legs back to their proper stance. The action was stiff and shaky, and it took every last bit of energy Getafix had; almost more power than he could give. The village druid fell forward, falling against the grip of his mentor; still conscious, but very weak.

Around them the village seemed to tremble with a deep, rumbling sound; as though some great, invisible, stone barrier were crumbling to dust all around them. The lighting changed, glowing that familiar green tint that the Gauls had all come to associate with Mastix's power. It filled the hut, making the room alive with a nearly electric feel, along with intense cold. The villagers gripped their children, eyes wide and mouths shut tight as though they were afraid that by speaking the foul magic would enter them as well. But, by far, the worse thing was Asterix cry of agony that broke through the rest of the foreboding sounds. It pierced the hearts and souls of everyone present, including Getafix, who managed with his mentor's help to get himself sitting upright, albeit a bit unsteadily.

The smallest Gaul had curled even further in on himself, gasping as the full strength of Mastix's power rammed into him, seeming to push him hard against the woodwork of Vitalstitistix's hut. Valuaddetax was surprised by the violence with which the spell was striking the short warrior; the brute force empowered by wrath that really and truly _was_ focused on Asterix.

As soon as Getafix's spell had fallen, the Venerable Druid had felt its protective shield collapse. Catching Getafix as he slumped forward, the elder quickly pushed him back up onto the stool, allowing his friend to rest against the wall behind him. Ignoring the feelings and sounds of distress that broke out in chaos all around him, the Venerable Druid withdrew a hand from beneath his cloak, with which he held a handful of powder he had prepared. Tossing it into the air, he let forth a string of druidic words and phrases that were halfway between a shout and a whisper; no one could tell which. But at once a great light of a different sort flashed about the hut, both within and without it. It was much like the silent explosion that had happened when Getafix had initiated his Neutralizing Spell, only this one was far less violent; more steady and controlled. The villagers didn't even need to shield their eyes as the new, strong protection spell covered the village, replacing that which had just fallen.

Asterix let out one last desperate gasp before he suddenly went limp, just as Getafix had; weak, but not unconscious. Valuaddetax lurched forward at once, knowing that the danger of being burned from the little Gaul's touch was gone. He supported the short fellow, checking him over with concern before raising his gaze to meet those of the recovering man. The Gaul met them, eyes reassuring him; _him_. Here the warrior was, lying there trying to regain his breath after what must have been a horrible ordeal, and yet he was somehow managing to try and calm Valuaddetax. It was something that the druid hadn't expected to see, and it shocked him.

Asterix struggled weakly to inch himself back into a sitting position against the wall. A druid other than the village's own knelt beside him, a hand gently griping his arm. He would have been surprised, if not for the fact that he had been well aware of the man's presence, besides the evidence that made it appear that he had not been. Looking into the stout druid's worried gaze, Asterix managed a very weak smile. "...I...I've just...just about had enough of Mastix's pest-pestering."

Valuaddetax blinked, sensing that the Gaul was actually making a desperate attempt at a joke. Again he was baffled by the man's inner strength. He was trying to lighten the mood. Asterix's gaze shifted slightly, moving to focus on behind the druid. Valuaddetax turned his head to see what he was looking at, finding the assembly of frightened Gauls standing at his back. The big fellow - Obelix they had called him? - was standing closest, fidgeting nervously. His eyes met those of the short druid, and Valuaddetax realized he was asking permission. Moving aside, the druid made way for the villagers.

"Asterix!" Obelix came barreling forward, dropping to his knees as he assisted his friend in sitting up the rest of the way. "Are you hurt?!"

Asterix patted his fellow Gaul's hand, again giving reassurance where it was he who needed it most. "N-no more...than the other times...Obelix." He latched onto the large Gaul's arm. "Help...me up."

"You'll do no such thing!"

All eyes turned to find Getafix, standing supported by the Venerable Druid. He still didn't look all that well, but that dreadful, pale white had left his skin as some color returned to it. His legs shook as he forced himself to stand, relying on his mentor's strength more than he liked, but otherwise he was back to himself, which brought unbelievable relief to the villagers.

"You will not get up, Asterix," Getafix reiterated. "You are going to rest!"

"As are you," the Venerable Druid said firmly, keeping his friend from moving too quickly. "You, Asterix, and Cacofonix need to take a while to recover. You have been under incredible pressure, and that is dangerous both for the body and the mind. Don't worry, things are alright; we'll handle it. A new spell is up, and Valuaddetax and I can regulate it easily enough. When you are rested, Getafix, then you can assist us as well." Turning to Impedimenta, who had returned from the kitchen with Cacofonix still held gently by the arm, he asked, "Is there some way we can make up a few cots? Sleep is what they need at the moment." Getafix opened his mouth to protest, but his mentor cut him off. "That is what I command and that is final!"

Getafix closed his mouth at once, knowing that it would be fruitless to fight against the Venerable Druid's strong will. And besides...he really was tired...


	22. Light in the Darkness

Asterix sat, warm and safe; pressed between Cacofonix and Getafix, and surrounded by half a dozen wool blankets. The three had just awoken; though for the life of him, Asterix couldn't remember ever having fallen asleep. Impedimenta and the other women had piled up as many blankets and straw-stuffed mattresses as could be found within the Chieftain's hut and positioned them in the corner closest to the hearth. Cots were unavailable, seeing as they all resided in huts that were now filled with nearly a foot of water.

Cacofonix had been grateful for the chance to sleep. He hadn't given Impedimenta the least bit of trouble; stretching out on the warm sheets and drifting off almost immediately. Asterix and Getafix, on the other hand, had fought all the way, claiming that they didn't need any rest. But, between the insistent villagers and a very strong-willed Venerable Druid, the two had reluctantly draped a blanket around their shoulders and sat glaring in disapproval. Valuaddetax had handed them each a cup of something warm, and Asterix had just assumed it was tea. But since that was the last memory the short Gaul had before waking, it was obvious there had been more to the drink than he had thought.

But Asterix had to admit; he did feel much better. Looking up at Getafix, who was sitting on his left, he was relieved to see the druid fully recovered. His eyes no longer appeared hazed and clouded; unfocused in pained concentration. It was a rest Getafix had sorely needed. Asterix had watched his older friend for the past few days, feeling helpless as he had taken note of the druid's faltering health. It had been more painful to see than the fiery ache that had wracked his own body. It was a great, healing sight to find Getafix recovering so swiftly. It eased the guilty throb that had settled deep in Asterix's heart.

To the short Gaul's right, Cacofonix sat, also enveloped in soft, warm fabric. The bard hadn't realized how chilled he had become while out in Mastix's storm. Even after he had escaped it and had traveled to the Carnutes, it had seemed to cling to him; icily residing in his very bones. Now that he was warm and comfortable, all traces of cold having left him, he felt his tense muscles relax for the first time in days. Sleeping had renewed his troubled mind, making the world seem far less chaotic and hopeless than when he had fallen asleep. Asterix was alright. Getafix was alright. Everyone was alright. He had brought help and, hopefully, that would mean everything would _stay_ alright.

Valuaddetax sat near them, watching to make sure his medical services would not be needed. His eyes moved from Getafix, to Asterix, and then rested on Cacofonix. While all three looked much better than they had before, the bard wasn't recovering as quickly. Hmm. He'd have to make a little potion for him; to help strengthen the fellow up again. Otherwise, the patients appeared well and almost cheery.

In fact, a general sense of hope and relief fairly radiated within the hut. The villagers, who had remained quiet while their friends slept, moved forward at once, asking questions and giving reassurance to themselves that things were truly starting to look a little less dark. Many wanted to hear of the bard's adventures outside the village and how he had managed. Cacofonix told his friends about his capture by the Romans and was promptly praised by Asterix for his clever thinking in his escape. Gentle teasing went on between the men, giving the whole room a safe, easygoing atmosphere. Even Valuaddetax joined in the fast, happy conversations. These people were truly joyful being back together, and it showed in their faces, body language, and speech. Everyone seemed to believe, at least for the moment, that everything was finally going to start looking up. Everything was alright, and everyone was simply bursting with joy.

Well, almost everyone.

The Venerable Druid was standing in the opposite corner, brow furrowed in deep thought; a hand slowly stroking his beard. His eyes had studied Getafix for a while now, thinking hard about his past-student. It was the first time he had seen Getafix among the people the younger druid had chosen to devote his life to. The Venerable Druid observed his interactions with the Gauls; the way he talked with them, and how his eyes seemed to shine with amusement at what they said. No one else would have noticed, but the Venerable Druid saw it. Getafix had changed. Since his early days in the Carnutes, to the last day there until now, Getafix had changed a lot. Many of his mannerisms were foreign to the elder, until he saw them reflected in the villagers around him. Getafix's face was easily readable, a canvas for all his emotions to dance across. Of course, that had happened to a lot of the younger druids. Those who had left the Carnutes during Mastix's attack had had their training interrupted. Even after becoming full-fledged Druids, there were certain lessons to be learned. Better controlling one's emotions had been among them. Oh, it wasn't that big of a deal. Many druids had returned to the Carnutes and had finished those studies. It had resulted in a less composed generation, evidenced even in Valuaddetax, but it hadn't been too bad. The druids didn't believe in eliminating emotions, just in being careful of which ones showed. All the druids who had returned had learned their lessons well, and were all turning out just fine.

But Getafix had never come back. Getafix had stayed away from the Carnutes; deciding to reside in this little, Gaulish village. Among these common folk, away from the laboratories and knowledge the Carnutes had to offer. The Venerable Druid didn't resent that; no, not in the slightest. But he did not understand it. While Getafix had developed into the great druid his mentor had always believed he would be; had even gone beyond that, the Venerable Druid could not quite grasp the reason Getafix would choose Gauls over his own people. The Gauls were defeated, crushed under the heavy hand of Caesar...except for this one village. Getafix had always pitied the underdogs of the world, but this went beyond pity. The Venerable Druid just couldn't understand it.

Then the elder druid's eyes had drifted to the small man beside Getafix. Asterix the village warrior. Strange that a man of such small stature should gain such a position, and yet, he seemed the perfect match. The way that he seemed to be protecting those around him, even sitting there on the mattress, worn and weary, shone with courage. As though, if it came to it, he'd give every bit of his last ounce of energy to keeping them safe. It wasn't something that showed visibly, not in a physical sense necessarily. It was more something the Venerable Druid could sense; feel. The strong spirit that emanated from the little Gaul was mixed with immeasurable courage that was simply staggering in its form. It was like a light that glowed within him, touching all those around him.

A sudden thought occurred to the Venerable Druid. One that both surprised him, and startled him. He fixed his eyes on Asterix as the warrior happily conversed with his friends, blissfully unaware of the troubled eyes that watched from across the room. The druid who was slowly realizing that this short man was definitely more than he seemed. If the elder druid was correct, it was a very good thing that he and Valuaddetax had come. Mastix was not done here. Their problems had only just begun.

Asterix stretched, wincing when it pulled his brutally sore muscles. "How long were we asleep?" he asked, looking up at Valuaddetax. He knew it would take time before he would get used to seeing more than one druid within the village. It was such an uncommon sight to the Gauls, it bordered on being downright strange.

"For the larger half of the afternoon," Valuaddetax replied. "Do you three feel any better?" He could tell they were, at least outwardly, but a good medicinal druid knows that there is much more to health than outer appearances. He wanted to hear from their own mouths how they felt.

Asterix shrugged. "I'm a little sore, but that isn't too surprising."

"Hmm, yes," Valuaddetax nodded, "And quite lucky. Mastix isn't always so reserved in his power." He turned his eyes to the Gaul's right. "And Cacofonix; how are you feeling?"

"Hungry," the bard smiled. His statement was met with a few chuckles from the surrounding Gauls. He was going to be fine. Impedimenta quickly left to find something for their three friends to eat.

Valuaddetax laughed. "I'm sure that is something that can be easily remedied without the use of my potions." He then turned his gaze to Getafix. A twinkle shone behind his brown eyes, set in his chubby face. "And you old friend, how do you fair?"

Getafix raised his eyes to meet his, crossing his arms over his chest with a mock scowl. "Valuaddetax," he chided, "I do believe you snuck me a sleeping potion!"

Valuaddetax grinned. "Oh, as if _you_ haven't ever used that trick," he shot back jokingly. "You used to sneak me ones all the time, just to see how strong they were!"

Obelix, who was standing as close to Asterix as he could manage at the moment, looked over at the two druids curiously. "I snuck some potion once, when I was a little boy." He liked his lips at the memory. "Didn't put me to sleep though; just made me strong and...big boned."

The villagers and Getafix let out a laugh at Obelix's innocent observation, to the confusion of both Valuaddetax and Obelix himself. It wasn't all that funny; not really, but the tension that had been building over the past week had needed an avenue to escape through, and laughter was the quickest route to healing. It felt good; seeming to wash away the stiffness and mental clouds of depression that had settled within them. It was a relief; the type where you feel like if you think about it too long, you might end up crying instead. Getafix held out his hand and Valuaddetax yanked him up onto his feet before enveloping him in a warm, sincere embrace. The village druid returned the gesture, giving a kind chuckle. Then Getafix's eyes met those of the Venerable Druid, and Getafix knew that the fun was over. There was important things to discuss.

"I thank you, O Venerable Druid, for coming to our aid," Getafix said officially, stepping forward to face his past-mentor. "I doubt I would have been able to make it to nightfall without your help."

The Venerable Druid was sure that was true. Images of how sickly Getafix had looked when he arrived was something he was sure would haunt him for quite some time. The elder nodded, before asking the first of many questions on his mind. "How long has Mastix been here?"

Vitalstitistix decided to be the one to reply. He was feeling a little left out. As village Chief, he was usually the one in charge, but with three druids, who knew a good deal more about the situation than he did, Vitalstitistix was starting to wonder whether he had any authority at the moment or not. "He arrived the evening of the last new moon."

The elder druid mentally calculated the time frame. Then he turned a rather disapproving look to Vitalstitistix. "You are the Chief of this village?"

"I am; yes."

"Do you always allow such uncommon strangers into your domain so freely?"

The villagers flinched, knowing how hard the question would hit their leader. Vitalstitistix had been feeling guilty enough about everything as things were. Ever since Mastix's first attack against Getafix and Asterix, he had been blaming himself; knowing that he should have been more careful and aware. The village had become far too accepting of outsiders. Though, in some cases, that was a virtue; in others it was a weakness to be exploited by their enemies. And now it had. And Vitalstitistix couldn't help but realize that, if he had been more careful, they might not be in the position they were in now. The Chieftain's shoulders slumped and he looked deeply hurt.

"They had no way of knowing that Mastix would pose such a danger," Getafix cut in defensively. He knew that the Venerable Druid, a teacher through and through, was just trying to make a point, and help Vitalstitistix learn from his mistake; but he thought this accusation was a little harsh. Getafix knew the Gauls better than his old mentor did, and his experience told him that this was the wrong way to admonish the Chief. Though not quite as sensitive as some of the other villagers, Getafix knew Vitalstitistix would take such a burden very hard. "Not to mention that Mastix had disguised himself as a woman," he added.

"Hmm; an interesting approach on his part," the elder druid observed. "Mastix has learned patience in his absence. But it is still a shame that he was able to find a foothold here so easily."

"It's my fault."

Everyone turned to Asterix. The warrior had not risen to his feet yet, instead remaining seated on the mattress that had been provided for him. The fact that he had not gotten up yet proved just how worn out he truly was.

"It's my fault that Mastix got in," the blond Gaul continued. "I had a bad feeling about him when I met him in the woods, even when he was disguised as Petunia. I didn't tell anyone, and I should have. If there's anyone to be blamed, it should be me. As village warrior, I'm supposed to find threats _before_ they reach the village. I failed to do so."

Every person's heart in the room went out to the short Gaul, who still looked far paler and weaker than they liked. Even the Venerable Druid's face softened at the warrior's selfless acceptance of such a burdensome responsibility. He gazed at the small man, again realizing that something was off; out of place in this villager.

"Your name is Asterix, is it not?" he intoned, coming a little closer.

Asterix nodded.

"You're the man that Mastix is after." It wasn't a question; it was a statement.

"Yes," Asterix admitted, "And I haven't the foggiest reason as to why." The whole situation was really quite frustrating. He was sick of being hurt over something that he didn't understand. He had nothing the dark druid could possibly want. The village wasn't rich, so it couldn't be for ransom. And besides, if it was money Mastix wanted, he was well within a position to just ask for it. And it couldn't be because he was a warrior, because Asterix was pretty sure their were far better warriors out there than him. And it wasn't even that Mastix wanted the Magic Potion anymore, since, again, he could have just kept on asking for it. It didn't make any sense. Asterix was seriously beginning to wonder if Mastix might be making some sort of terrible mix up.

"Neither have I," Getafix second. "When Mastix first arrived, all he wanted was the Magic Potion. He even went so far as to attack me to get it, before attacking Asterix as well, with a paralyzing spell. But his powers backfired, and he left. From then onward, Mastix has abandoned his want for potion and has instead been demanding that we hand him Asterix."

The expression on the Venerable Druid's face darkened, while a look of understanding began to shine in his eyes. "What do you mean Mastix's power 'backfired'?"

"There was a bright flash," Cacofonix spoke up, being the one who remembered it most clearly. "A flash of bright, golden light. It threw Mastix away from Asterix, breaking the spell that terrible man had on him."

"I thought it was Getafix's doing," Asterix added.

"But it wasn't," Getafix finished. "I was far too weak at the time to even stand; never mind produce such a powerful blast of energy. That's why I can only assume that Mastix must have overexerted his power, and it surged back at him." Getafix shrugged. "I have no other explanation."

There was a long pause as everyone waited for the Venerable Druid's reply. The elder was keeping his eyes firmly planted on Asterix; studying him as he tried to come to a decision. There were still many unanswered questions in his mind. Theories, doubts, and possibilities floated about, taunting him with truths and falsehoods, but one thought was insistent. If his assumption was correct, the Venerable Druid knew it would complicate matters. But, either way, he had to be certain.

"I think I do," the elder said, in response to Getafix's statement.

Getafix looked bewildered. "You do?" He exchanged a look with Asterix, seeing his confusion mirrored in the blond warrior's face. "May I ask what it is?"

"A thought," the Venerable Druid replied cryptically. "But I'd rather not say until I am sure. But I cannot be sure without performing a small spell."

"What kind of spell?" Vitalstitistix asked nervously, reminding the elder that these Gauls had become rather wary of such things. He realized he would have to talk them through it, so as not to frighten them. An understanding of magic was always far healthier than a fear of it. Though, with certainty, not all magic is good in any moderation, as Mastix's dark life so proved.* It had blackened his heart, making it seize in anger and hatred. Such a sight of cruelty would be enough to frighten anyone...even the indomitable Gauls. "And I thought no magic can be done within the Neutralizing Spell?"

"Ah, but you are not within Getafix's spell any longer. The one set over you now repels only dark magic. Our powers are still well intact here. As for the spell I wish to perform, it is harmless enough," the druid assured. "An old one; one I have not used for many, many years." Carefully, the Venerable Druid moved forward, coming to kneel in front of Asterix. His eyes were locked with the smaller warrior, as if searching for something. Or, perhaps, he had already found it. "In order to perform this spell," the elder said, a little hesitantly, "I shall need to touch you."

Asterix blinked in confusion. "...Touch me? You must perform this spell on me?"

"Yes. Mastix sees in you something that he wants. We don't know what that is, and it is a great disadvantage to us. The answer lies inside of you."

Obelix didn't like the sound of that in the least. Standing, the large Gaul stepped forward almost threateningly. "Hasn't Asterix been through enough?!" he declared, surprising the others. "We've had just about all we can take of magic and spells; when will it all end?!"

"Obelix."

Asterix's voice was soft compared to Obelix's own, but it was enough to catch the menhir deliveryman's attention. He turned to his friend, a look of anger, mixed with sorrow evident in his expression. Asterix saw it; a look so foreign to Obelix's face that it was literally painful to see.

"Obelix; he's right. Mastix has had far to much of an upper hand all this time. If there's a chance that we can understand, then maybe we _can_ see an end to this." Asterix turned his eyes back to the Venerable Druid, then nodded slowly. "Do what you must."

Taking the permission gratefully, the Venerable Druid reached forth a hand. But he withdrew it quickly when Asterix flinched.

"It...It won't hurt much...will it?" the blond warrior asked. He was trying to keep his body still, but it seemed to instinctively want to cringe away. In all honesty, Asterix was afraid. His experiences with magic recently had brought nothing but pain and suffering, both to him and those he cared for. But he knew that it had to be done.

For the first time since Asterix had met him, the Venerable Druid actually smiled. Not a cruel or taunting smile, like he had seen on the face of Mastix; but a kind, reassuring smile; almost endearing. "It will not hurt you in the least. Though, it may feel a bit...strange."

Again Asterix nodded.

Reaching out his weathered limb once more, the druid closed his eyes and gently lay a hand on the little Gaul's chest. Summoning a spell so old that it had long been forgotten by most, the Venerable Druid mumbled a low chant, allowing the power to surge down his arm, to his hand, and into the body of the man before him.

Asterix gave a light gasp; not of pain or fear, but of surprise; and, even then, not an unpleasant kind. It was like being awash in warmth and light all at once. Like when the sun shines down on your back on a summer's day. Only this surrounded him; went through him. Closing his eyes, Asterix let the feeling envelope him; let it fill him, relaxing the tenseness within his arms and legs. The hut, the villagers, and the druids; all of it seemed to fade away. All that was left was that wonderful, freeing warmth and light. It was dizzying; disorienting, but, at the moment, he couldn't care less.

The Venerable Druid magically reached within the Gaul; gently; carefully. Not in an invading way, but a slow, wandering manner. He allowed the warrior to guide him in; not pressing into what Asterix refused to show him. The druid was surprised, however, at just how open the little fellow was. Through the spell he could feel what made Asterix who he was. He could feel the genuine love and courage the warrior held for his village, as well as those who dwelt within it. He could feel the strong friendships and bonds between them, so complicated in design that the druid could not ever begin to understand it. He felt the intense emotions; love, joy, sorrow, fear; an ever changing cascade of thoughts and feelings. But the Venerable Druid did not push to see these things. They were Asterix's to see alone. The druid, who could only sense the outer rim, could not imagine what these emotions would be like if he saw them unshielded.

But he was not searching for these things. He waded through them, searching for the one thing he was almost certain he would find. Something, in all truth, he had never expected to see again. It was so rare; so uncommon. It was-

All at once, the Venerable Druid found it. Like a beacon, an unbelievably bright flash of golden light filled the druid's mind. If it had been a physical light, it would have been blinding. With a gasp of his own, the Venerable Druid stumbled back, breaking the bond between them as he did.

The villagers, who up until now had been watching with a mix of curiosity and trepidation, jumped as the druid staggered back, gasping like a man who had nearly drowned and was now trying to catch his breath. Getafix and Valuaddetax rushed forward to steady their elder, gripping him as he tried to regain his composer. No one but the Venerable Druid had seen or felt anything; he was the only one who has witnessed the intense power that had momentarily radiated from within the little Gaul who sat perfectly still, his eyes still held gently shut.

Asterix's eyes fluttered open as the last residual effects of the spell left him. He glanced up, taking in the puzzled expressions of his friends, as well as the shocked stare of the Venerable Druid. The small warrior had felt an odd, pulsing light within him; other than that which had been directed by the elder. But, unlike all the magic he had encountered in this chaos so far, it had not left him drained. In fact, it had empowered him. Asterix's perplexed eyes raised and met those of the Venerable Druid's own.

"What...what was that?"


	23. In the Dark of Night

"Are you sure?" Getafix just couldn't quite believe it. Not that he doubted the Venerable Druid's word, but...

The elder nodded seriously, every fiber of his body still tingling with the remaining power that resided in him, left there by that bright, golden flash. He was as bewildered as his past student. This was definitely a turn of events he had not anticipated, and it _definitely_ raised the stakes. Mastix getting his hands on the Magic Potion would have been chaotic; for him to get hold of the power of the Soul Light would be catastrophic; unthinkable. "There is no question left in my mind. Asterix is a Solas Anam."

Getafix held a hand to his head and walked a few steps away from his mentor. The two men stood in the limited space of Impedimenta's kitchen, discussing a topic neither had ever wanted to talk about again. The Venerable Druid had pulled Getafix away from the others, leaving Valuaddetax to help settle the villagers down for the night. Asterix's voice had followed them all the way, asking what had happened; and Getafix had been equally puzzled, until the elder ushered the village druid away to tell him. Why the Venerable Druid had chosen not to tell the Gauls, or even Asterix, of what he had discovered, was beyond Getafix's understanding. Maybe because the elder wished to see _his_ reaction first.

Getafix sighed, rubbing his temples miserably. "How could I not have realized?" In all right, he felt he should have. Now that it was pointed out to him, it was blindingly clear. In fact, Asterix could be nothing else. Why hadn't he seen it before? Maybe, in this case, familiarity had bred ignorance. All these years of being beside Asterix had dulled him to the pure energy that he now saw so distinctly. He had watched the blond Gaul go from mischievous child to fearless, loyal, caring adult; and had never thought any different. Because, to him, that was just Asterix. But now, looking through the eyes of an outsider, Getafix saw that Asterix was far more than that.

Getafix felt a hand on his shoulder. "Don't be too hard on yourself, Getafix," the Venerable Druid said calmly. "You had no way of knowing as I did. You've only ever met one Dweller of the Solas Anam in your lifetime, and even then, you didn't know what Prolix was at that time. We never taught about Seaghias and such in the Carnutes. You were never trained on how to find one. It is no fault of yours that you did not know, Getafix. We elders should have kept such teachings alive through all these years."

"But I still feel like such a fool," Getafix grumbled irritably. He pulled away from his mentor; mad more at himself than his old friend. His mind was still trying to piece together what this would mean for them. For the village. For Asterix. "This means that Mastix is after Asterix's..."

The Venerable Druid nodded sagely. "Yes; his Inner Light. Just as Mastix once attempted to do to Prolix."

The memory of that horrible night; of Mastix's power ripping mercilessly into Prolix's very soul, was almost unbearable. But to imagine something like that happening to Asterix was unthinkable. Asterix was every bit the friend to Getafix that Prolix had been; maybe even more so. The village druid had helped deliver him, raise him, educate him; and had watched with pride as the young man took up a position as village warrior. Asterix was almost like a son. "But that would kill Asterix!"

"It would."

"But that's...that's murder!"

"He has murdered before."

Getafix blinked, his agitation growing the more he thought about it. This wasn't just a fight for the village anymore. This was a fight for Asterix's life. If Mastix won, the warrior would die. And then Mastix would turn his revengeful gaze to them, and, after that, who could tell. He tried to calm himself down, not wanting his voice to carry out into the main room. "We can't let that happen. Just what kind of power would Mastix obtain from... from Asterix?" The question came out shakier than he intended, and Getafix almost felt embarrassed. Almost.

The Venerable Druid stroked his incredibly long beard in thought. "That isn't exactly certain. It is understood that he would gain a far greater level of magical strength. But Toutatis knows whether it isn't more drastic than that. There has never been a recorded, successful Extraction. Even Prolix's was not complete. You remember."

"Yes." How could Getafix forget. "The spell was too strong for Mastix. He lost control of it, and the energy dispersed."

The elder nodded, his face darkened by worried thoughts. "But Mastix is far more powerful now than he was then. There's a very large chance that, if he should manage to get to your friend, that he would not only kill him, but he would be fully successful in extracting Asterix's Soul Light."

Getafix felt what remained of his strength leave him, and he unsteadily sank down to sit on one of Impedimenta's great, bronze cooking pots. "Oh, Toutatis help us..."

The thick curtain separating the kitchen from the rest of the hut was gently pulled aside; a chubby, bearded face peeking through. "May I enter?"

The Venerable Druid turned with a kindly smile; answering, since it didn't look like Getafix was going to do so. "Yes, Valuaddetax; come on in."

The short, stout druid slipped inside, allowing the curtain to fall back into place behind him. His sizable girth took up a rather large portion of the kitchen; which, in reality, was very little more than a large closet. It was the only one of its kind in the village; all the other huts having been simply equipped with a hearth and a cooking kettle, just like the Gauls had used for generations. But Impedimenta had not always resided in the village. She had originally come from Lutetia, where the standards of living were a little more advanced. Having an actual kitchen had been a must for Impedimenta, and Vitalstitistix had given in long ago. He had hired some workers from Lutetia to come and install it, at a sizable price. Impedimenta had been thrilled, and Vitalstitistix had been relieved.

But it had not been built to comfortably supply three, full-grown, adult druids with a meeting place. It was really rather cramped.

Once Valuaddetax had managed to squeeze in, the Venerable Druid nodded his head in the direction of the villagers. "How are they?"

"Well," the younger druid replied tiredly, "I had to give both Asterix and Cacofonix something for their aches; they're a bit sore still. They're asleep now, as are the rest of the Gauls. The ones with colds I made some soup for, and that should heal them up pretty quickly. Oh, and I took a look at the three with the burns. They're almost completely healed, thanks to Getafix's remedies. All in all, Old Bean; these people are pretty well off for what they've been through."

The Venerable Druid seemed more depressed by the news than encouraged. "Hmm, yes. But for how long?"

"What do you mean? We've blocked Mastix's power. He can't reach them." Getafix had come back to himself; snapping his attention to the faces of his companions. In his eyes the Venerable Druid once again saw the raw emotions that resided there. Getafix was afraid, worried, and desperate; all feelings that the elder himself remembered feeling all those many years ago in the Carnutes. Knowing that, while emotions were important, they could also be a great distraction. They could cause errors in judgement, and they had no room for error. Getafix would have to learn that lesson quickly if they were to be successful.

"Getafix," the mentor sighed, "You know as well as I do; that isn't true. It won't be long before Mastix breaks through our defenses. He's learning. He now knows how to overpower your Neutralizing Spell and-"

Getafix interrupted. "We don't know that. I could set up the spell again; it was working so well be-"

"Before? Yes." The Venerable Druid shook his head. "But not anymore. Your spell was unstable and erratic, making it weaker, but also harder for Mastix to figure out. You said it was a failed experiment, but it served you well. But it can no longer do so." Seeing his friend was still not fully convinced, he added, "Getafix, when we arrived Mastix was only moments away from making it in. If we hadn't gotten here when we did, the fight would have been over. This village would have lost."

Getafix shrunk back a little. He knew it was true. He had been just barely hanging on when the two arrived with Cacofonix. Mastix had been so close to succeeding; so very close. "...I know. I just wish...that I didn't."

"It won't be long before he breaks through," the elder continued firmly. "He's familiar with the protection spells of the Carnutes. Though the one I set up is more advanced and recent, I'm afraid it won't do much for long. My spell is steady and firm, but readable. He will figure it out in time."

Getafix remained seated on the upturned pot, looking more and more crushed. "How long a time?"

"I don't know. Days; hours; minutes; any time. I really don't know."

"Will your protection spell do us _any_ good?"

The words might have seemed insulting if the Venerable Druid didn't know that Getafix was being sincere. "It will dull the impact, just as yours did. But..." He trailed off, knowing that his past student would catch his meaning. He watched Getafix's expression change from dismay to strong determination. Without further warning, Getafix stood to his feet and made for the curtain, but the Venerable Druid took hold of his arm to stop him.

"Where are you going?"

Getafix subtly tried to pull away from his mentor, but he found the elder to be surprisingly strong. Turning, his voice gained a hint of anger to its tone. "To tell them. They need to know." The truth had been kept from them long enough in his opinion. This wasn't something that involved just him, or the druids; and not even just Asterix. This involved everyone who was close to Asterix. From Geriatrix to the youngest child, Asterix was a dear friend and hero. They needed to know that hero was in greater danger than they had first thought. Getafix tried tugging his arm away again, with little success.

"Getafix, let them rest. It would only cause panic among them."

"But they deserve to know. Asterix deserves to know; he's the one at the center of this whole mess."

The Venerable Druid let go of Getafix's arm to grip both his hands on the younger druid's shoulders; staring into Getafix's blue eyes* with his own heightening frustration. Leave it to Getafix to loosen his mentor's hold on his emotions. "And what good will it do him? He knows nothing of these matters. He can't fight it any better than we can."

Getafix stepped roughly away, though he did not leave the kitchen. He knew the Venerable Druid was right, and he would not go against his elder, but that did little to stay his anger. "But he's a Solas Anam!" he nearly yelled. "You said so yourself!" He flinched when he realized how loud he had just been. Sending a glance toward the curtain, Getafix lowered his voice. "Doesn't that count for anything?"

Valuaddetax stood as far from the argument as he could without evacuating the kitchen entirely. He was surprised, as well as alarmed, at the boldness in Getafix's words. The chubby druid didn't really know what the other two were talking about, but he was quickly putting the pieces of the puzzle together. They were talking about Asterix, of that he was certain. But this Solas Anam Getafix was mentioning; why was that important? He remembered someone mentioning it to him long ago; but it had been so long he no longer fully remembered what it was. Whatever it may be, it was obviously a matter of great controversy to both his friends. Valuaddetax had never seen such temper between the teacher and his student before. Both were usually so calm and collected. But Valuaddetax also knew how much this whole mess must be affecting them emotionally. Both had been closer to Mastix than he had ever been. The Venerable Druid had cared for Mastix almost as a son; as many teachers did their pupils. Getafix had been close to Mastix in a different way. The stout druid remembered how much Mastix had always enjoyed teasing Getafix; trying to make his life as miserable as possible. They had been rivals; enemies, not friends.

When Mastix had turned, it had been hard for everyone, but especially for the Venerable Druid and Getafix. And now Mastix had returned, reigniting the pain in the elder, and the intense fear in the younger; dragging out all the feelings and memories they had tried to forget. But Mastix wouldn't let them forget. It was hard for them; Valuaddetax could tell. And the stout druid decided right then and there that he'd do whatever he could to make it easier for both of them.

The Venerable Druid let out a steadying sigh. "Getafix...I know you're upset. I really _am_ trying to help. We're doing our best. And we will continue to do so. I haven't given up, and neither has Valuaddetax. My words were not meant to rob you of hope."

Getafix lowered his eyes to the side, focusing them on the dirt floor. His next words were filled with more despair than either of the other druids had heard in it before. "And is there any?"

The elder's expression softened. "There's always hope. We'll work together. We'll mix spells; intertwine our magic. Mastix won't be expecting that. We'll find a way. But," he warned, "No matter what happens, Mastix must not get his hands on Asterix."

Getafix raised his eyes to meet the teacher's own. "I don't intend to let him."

And the Venerable Druid knew he meant it.

* * *

"Fools! Every one of them!"

Mastix leafed through the pages of the Book of Olc, shifting through the endless sea of dark, hurtful spells. He had looked through it so many times in the past thirty-five years that he knew its contents by heart. He had favorites, ones he had waited years to try out. Others he had never really reflected on much, finding them far to merciful for his own dark purposes. It had been an enjoyable pastime for decades; helping the dark druid to keep a firm sight on his revenge. The revenge he had been so close to obtaining.

"I should have crushed that miserable Gaul before he had a chance to leave for the Carnutes!" he growled, his voice dripping with hatred. "I should have killed him; crushed him like an insect, instead of turning back to the village so soon. It would all be over by now if I had." He continued to turn page after page, eyes scanning each and every word. "But no matter. Those two idiots from the druidic Forest are here. And, though that makes everything a little harder, in the end it will do the village no good. Even with the help of the oh-so-powerful Venerable Druid, they shall fall."

That alone was something the dark druid felt he should have foreseen. Getafix was no fool; of course he would send for help. How a Gaul had managed the trip to the Carnutes and back in such a relatively short time was beyond Mastix's knowledge. Oh, but how his animosity burned within him. He could feel the two new druids' presence in the village; recognized their magical signature. It was his old teacher and that plump little idiot who used to hang around Getafix all those many years ago. They had gotten in using an invisibility spell; something that Mastix had not discovered until later, having picked up on the remaining particles of their magic. Stupid fools! They had ruined everything!

Getafix had almost broken under his onslaught; Mastix was sure of it. He had felt the weakening hold his rival had had on the spell; the one little spell which had managed to keep the evil druid out for an entire week. But, just as he was about to be victorious, the spell had collapsed, and, before he could really, truly reach his prey, a new protection spell had gone up, blocking him out. It was a far steadier spell than the one Getafix had set up. It didn't flux and shiver like Getafix's; instead being strong and firm, like marble.

But it would do the Gauls very little good.

Mastix recognized the new spell's base. All new spells were always created from improved old spells; like building blocks, they stacked. If you knew the older, you could figure out the newer. And Mastix was certain he would be through this particular one before midnight. It was of such simple design. Almost crude in the dark man's mind. Had the Venerable Druid just assumed that Mastix had not continued his studies after being banished? Old fool! He thought that just because Mastix had been forbidden to enter the Carnutes that he could not grow in knowledge of the magic! Ah, but he had. Ha! The Book had taught him all he needed. It was a patient teacher; never scolding, never laughing, and never telling him what to do. It was a far better mentor than the Venerable Druid had ever been! Ah,yes. The doddering idiot would suffer, as would all who stood in his way.

With assurance that he would have a chance to strike by late that night, Mastix continued leafing through the worn, stained parchments within the Book. Searching, with a grin on his face, for the most painful, agonizing spell he could find. He chuckled at each page, imagining how fun or rewarding each one would be to try. But they weren't suitable. He needed to hit that little warrior hard. Those villagers were holding out against the guilt far better than Mastix had anticipated. I fact, it was starting to become increasingly clear that they cared for their friend so deeply, that they were resisting all the harder to give in.

Mastix paused in his search, deciding to delve deeper into that thought. Now that he stopped to think about it, his plan wasn't really working all that well. He had hit the little Gaul a number of times, with numerous, nastily wonderful attacks. Things that he was certain must have pained the villagers terribly to see, but still they held out; standing firm and refusing to give up. How disgusting! And he was sure that the little warrior had something to do with that. By now it was obvious that the short man cared more for the lives of his friends than his own...

Mastix stopped; letting the full extent of that idea settle deeper. This Asterix was a village warrior; a man devoted to keeping others safe, at the risk of his own life. A man who would never allow his friends to give up a fight, no matter how he was hurting...unless...unless it was his friends who were the ones being hurt...Just how long would this little warrior be able to hold up if the roles were reversed...if it was they who were suffering for _his_ sake...

Slowly, an evil smile spread across the dark druid's face.

It was worth a try.

* * *

Asterix lay on his back, awake upon the dirt floor of Vitalstitistix's hut, staring up at the thatched underside of the Chieftain's roof. He had one woolen blanket to soften the hard ground beneath him, as did all the other men. Wrapped around one's self, it provided both bed and covering sheet, catching the warmth from the fire and keeping it locked against their skin. One sheet was all the men really needed; with the exception of Obelix, who needed two to wrap around his sizely girth. All the mattresses and extra blankets had been given to the women and children, something the men had insisted on.

All around Asterix, the villagers slept. In one corner, he knew that Vitalstitistix and Impedimenta rested, side by side, sleeping deeply. To the warrior's far left, Mrs. Fulliautomatix, surrounded by her family, snored loudly; though, by this point, everyone was too tired to care much about that. And somewhere off to the blond Gaul's far, far right, Geriatrix mumbled and chuckled in his sleep; the word Alesia* coming up every now and again. Cacofonix hadn't strayed far from Asterix's side since his return from the Carnutes; laying only a few feet from the warrior, sleeping peacefully. But it was the presence at Asterix's back that was of the most comfort.

Obelix had gotten as close as appropriately possible. The menhir deliveryman had settled beside Asterix, leaving just enough space for Dogmatix to curl up between them; the small pup whining softly every so often. Asterix knew Obelix was trying to reassure himself of his friend's safety; convincing himself that Asterix was alright. The warrior knew just how painful Mastix's attacks had been, not only to himself, but to his friends; but Obelix in particular. He had read the suffering in the large Gaul's face over and over again; until Asterix had started to wonder if his best friend's expression would ever contain that innocent, child-like joy that had always resided there before. And now, though maybe not back to full strength, it was returning. The two had talked for a while before bed; and not about anything in particular. They stayed as far away from the topic of Mastix as they could, instead sharing memories of boar hunts and Roman thumpings, both activities of which Obelix was sorely missing.

Valuaddetax had sat with the villagers, only getting up to fetch some things to ease any discomfort anyone happened to be feeling. The druid was an excellent healer, in Asterix's opinion. He was kind and caring; the type of man you like and trust the moment you meet him. His knowledge of medicinal herbs was extensive, evidenced by how quickly he could mix a potion or tonic for the villagers' various ills or hurts. Not that Getafix didn't know how to do those things, but the village druid's specialty had never been medicine. Though Getafix could get by with his knowledge of treating injuries and illnesses, he was still far more an inventor of potions than a healer. Which brought Asterix's mind back to another subject.

Straining his ears, Asterix tried to hear the conversation going on in Impedimenta's kitchen, where Valuaddetax had just joined Getafix and the Venerable Druid. He knew he was supposed to be asleep, and even his body seemed to agree with the idea of closing his eyes and drifting off; but his mind strongly _disagreed_. Asterix still had far too many unanswered questions to fall asleep. He was confused, as well as frustrated. The Venerable Druid had ignored his inquiries after the odd spell the old man had used on him. The druid had seem startled, or concerned, and had quickly taken a hold of Getafix's elbow, leading him into the kitchen, where they still remained. But no matter how hard he tried, Asterix could not make out any of their conversation. He could hear the rise and fall of their voices; the calm, low droning of the Venerable Druid mixed with Getafix changing tones. And from the sound of their druid's pitch, it was obvious that Getafix was agitated. _Very_ agitated.

Asterix gave a sigh. It didn't look like he'd be getting any answers that way. The notion of rising and sneaking up to the kitchen came to his mind, but he dismissed it. Though he was terribly curious, it went against Asterix's principles to eavesdrop on his own friends like that. Now, just _happening_ to hear them from the safety of his bed; that was different. But since that seemed to be out of the question, Asterix decided to give up. Instead, he let his eyes close; focusing on the sounds of his sleeping friends. His body finally won out over his mind, and Asterix drifted off to sleep. A calm, cleansing rest that he so sorely needed. The night continued on, the atmosphere within the hut a safe haven; gentle and warm. Like all their problems were over...

But they weren't.

Not even close.

Sometime around midnight, when the sky was at its very darkest, and even the crickets has ceased their songs, a loud and terrible sound made Asterix and the other villagers leap to their feet. A heart-stopping shriek, that filled the hut like a host of evil, all at once shattered the silence like glass. Obelix gave a jump, almost rolling over on Dogmatix as he was jolted from his peaceful slumber. Eyes wide, the Gauls stumbled up, trying to orient themselves as the hair-raising sound continued. People tripped and fell over one another, panic in their movements, causing great confusion. It took them a number of moments to realize what was happening.

Every one of the Gaulish children were sitting up in bed, screaming as though they were seeing death itself. The collective sound was eerie, and incredibly loud; almost deafening. When one ran out of breath, they would stop than start anew, resulting in a seemingly endless shrill of torturous horror. Even Cacofonix's singing would have been more tolerable. The parents, realizing that it was their own children who had awakened them, fell to their knees beside them, desperately trying to find out what was wrong and yelling out for assistance.

"Help! Please!"

"Getafix!"

"Help!"

Getafix and the other two druids, who had still been conversing in the back, ran out into the main room. It was like walking into a whirlwind of chaos. Villagers were struggling back and forth, from one child to the next, as the youngsters themselves screamed, cried, and sobbed brokenly for no apparent cause. The Venerable Druid and Valuaddetax froze at the center of the room, the image bringing back memories of the panic and horror in the Carnutes so long ago. But Getafix was far too worried to stand still and be overtaken by the past. After recovering from the shock of the distressing scene, the village druid lurched forward and took hold of the closest villager, who happened to be Fulliautomatix. "What is it?! What's wrong?! What's happened?!" He had no idea why the children were so upset, and it was crucial to understanding what was to be done next.

The blacksmith was gripped with panic, barely even registering Getafix's grip on his shoulders as he kept his wide eyes focused on his family. His wife, a much smaller person than he, was kneeling beside their little son and daughter. It wasn't often that Getafix saw the Gauls together as a family. Most of the time, he was either with the children, teaching, or with the adults. But now, as the various parents hovered around their hysterically crying offspring, Getafix was met with a heartbreaking scene.

Fulliautomatix pulled away, distress evident in his voice as he yelled over the cacophony of tears and wails. "My children! Please, something's wrong!" He crouched down, trying to reassure his son, but the little boy only cried harder.

"There's something the matter with all of them!" This came from Unhygenix, who was in a similar situation with his own two sons. Getafix watched as the fishmonger reached out a hand to touch the youngster close to him, but the boy recoiled. The man's face twisted into such an expression of hopelessness, it made the druid's heart wrench painfully.

Valuaddetax stood beside the Venerable Druid, speechless at the chaos before them. He wanted to help, but he wasn't even sure what in the world was going on. The children were acting very much like young ones who had awakened from horrific nightmares; but that couldn't be. For them all to have suffered the same phenomenon; well, it was very unlikely. Unless...

"It's Mastix."

Valuaddetax snapped his attention to his side at the Venerable Druid's grim observation. "What?!"

"It's Mastix. He's broken through." The lack of emotion in the elder's voice was maddening under the circumstances, but Valuaddetax realized it was because the other man was trying to magically reignite the shield around the village. He must be; no one could stand there like that in a room of screaming children otherwise. And Valuaddetax's guess proved to be true. A moment later, the screams and wails died down, leaving a room full of exhausted, sobbing children. Children who still would not permit their parents to touch or console them.

Getafix carefully edged Fulliautomatix to the side. The blacksmith was shaking so badly that the village druid could feel it as he joined the man beside Fulliautomatix's son and daughter. "Let me try." Getafix stretched out his own hand, and was surprised as the little boy suddenly lurched forward, wrapping his arms about the druid's middle. Getafix blushed, not only from the unexpected embrace, but also from the fact that the boy had been willing to open up to him, but not his own father and mother. The child broke into a whole new round of tears, pressing his little face into the white folds of the front of Getafix's tunic.

The druid hesitated, before gently rubbing his hand over the boy's back. Taking a moment to carefully gather Fulliautomatix's daughter into his arms as well, Getafix motioned to his fellow druids and the remaining villagers to help comfort the children. It was obvious, for some unknown reason, that the children would not permit themselves to have any contact with their parents. And since that was the case, it was up to the rest of them to help. Finally, after several long minutes, the childrens' crying had been reduced to sniffles and small, high-pitched hiccups. They clung to their temporary comforters, as though terrified to let go.

Even after that, however, Getafix continued to softly encourage the two he held, trying to coax an explanation out of them. For a long time he received no answer, but still he gently persisted. "Shh. Hush now, little ones. It is all right; whatever has frightened you is gone. Tell me what is wrong?" Finally, he was rewarded.

Fulliautomatix's son, a small child with blond hair like his father, wiped an arm over his wet face. "I...I-I guess I h-had a bad dr-dream." It was the first answer anyone had been able to get out of the children so far; quickly catching the attention of the other adults.

"So did I," Fulliautomatix's daughter second with a small sob. "I-It was horrible...horrible..." She looked as though she might break into another cry, but, to her credit, she managed to keep from doing so. All the other children in the room either nodded or voiced their own agreement. They had all had nightmares.

Knowing that his next question might throw their success away, but asking anyway, Getafix inquired, "What was it about?" His feet were falling asleep on him, since they were curled up beneath him as he knelt, but Getafix was afraid to move. These children were very sensitive at the moment. They might not react well if he shifted; they might think he was trying to leave them, something they were obviously very concerned about, based on the way they were clinging to him.

It was one of Unhygenix's sons who answered, curled up pathetically against Cacofonix. He stuck his head up from beneath the bard's cloak, his lisp making him hard to understand. "I-I don't know about the retht of you, b-but..." He trailed off miserably, looking over at his mother and father with emotional pain. "Y-you died." There was a long silence, in which the child's words slowly registered. The boy had not been talking to Getafix. He had been talking to his parents.

"W-what?"

"They d-died. In my dreamths. One minute they were a-alright, but then-" the little Gaul burst into fresh tears, burying his face back into Cacofonix's cape.

"That's like mine," Fulliautomatix's son whimpered. "Only..." his eyes turned to his own mother and father.

"Only it was your own parents," Getafix finished. That explained a lot. It explained the nearly inconsolable horror; the fear and terror these children were displaying. It explained a lot; though, not everything. "Why won't you touch them?"

"W-we might h-hurt them."

Getafix almost cursed out loud. He knew full well who was responsible for this heartless attack; they all did. Giving the children nightmares of their own family's deaths, there could be nothing crueler than that. Except, perhaps, the act of installing nightmares that killed the parents at the childrens' own hands. The youngsters had not said this, but of it Getafix was certain. Mastix had given each boy and girl a dream in which, perhaps by touch, each one had destroyed those most dear to them. That explained why the children were afraid to embrace them now. And the gap between the agonized parents and petrified little ones was heartrending.

"Now, now, children," Getafix said soothingly. "Nothing is going to hurt you, or your parents. For the moment, we are all safe. You can in no way harm your mothers and fathers."

The little girl in his arms looked up at him. "Y-you mean, w-we can hug them and they won't..." Getafix nodded, and she turned her tear stained face to her family. The sight of her parents huddled close and frightened seemed to make up her mind, and she launched herself out of Getafix's arms and into their embrace. Her brother, and all the other children, followed suit; running to their fathers and mothers, renewing the sobs from before. Which sent the relieved parents into tears as well.

It didn't feel right to the remaining villagers to stand so close to the families as they hugged and cried; as though they were impeding on something sacred and private. And so, moving to the far side of the Chief's hut, the Gauls and the three druids stood in a clump, conversing softly. There would be no going back to sleep now; not after all that had just taken place. The short period of security was gone; lost in the returning wave of fear and anxiety. Their hearts twisted bitterly as they realized just how much they had deceived themselves. They should have know that their troubles were not over yet; and, deep down, they _had_ known. But they had wanted things to be alright so badly, that they had let themselves be fooled. And now, as the sounds of sniffles continued to float over from the upset children across the room, their ignorance had come full circle, catching them unaware.

The first words in the gathering came from Asterix. He had been greatly startled by this whole incident, and he wanted answers, whether the Venerable Druid wanted to give them or not. His warrior senses were building themselves back up; reaching out protectively and gaining strength; though from were he didn't have a clue. "What happened?" It was a simple question, but filled with urgency, worry, and even a trace of anger.

The Venerable Druid sent Getafix a look. Seeing that the younger druid was looking to him, expecting an answer as well, the elder cleared his throat and gave as good an explanation as he could. "It appears Mastix's power washed over their sleeping minds." The villagers gazed at him blankly, so he added, "In simpler terms, Mastix sent them nightmares."

This wasn't exactly unexpected. They had figured Mastix must have had something to do with it. Vitalstitistix looked back at the various huddled groups of weeping Gauls and their children. As village chief, he too felt protective of those under him; feeling helpless to have prevented it, but just as helpless as how to fix it now that it had happened. Impedimenta had a death grip on his arm, but, to tell the truth, it was somewhat comforting; helping him stay founded in the there and now, instead of sinking into hopeless depression.

"But we weren't burned when we touched them," Cacofonix said timidly. He was looking down at his hands, inspecting them. When he had knelt down to help calm Unhygenix's son, the bard had half expected to be scorched. Unhygenix himself had inhaled sharply, indicating that he had suspected the same result. But, at the time, Cacofonix hadn't really cared. As village bard and, often times, village teacher, Cacofonix was quite close to many of the children, and it had been terrible to see them so distressed. He wanted to help, no matter the cost to himself. But he hadn't been burned. No one had been. "I thought evil magic did that. Like Mastix's attacks on Asterix."

Valuaddetax shook his head. "That is because the spell was within their minds. It was the mind which was attacked. It is only physical spells which burn."

"But _why_?" Asterix frustration was growing. He hated a situation that he couldn't control. Or understand. None of this mess so far was making an ounce of sense! He just could not see what Mastix could gain by hurting the children. For that was what the dark druid has done. Physical or no, an attack was an attack. And Mastix would regret it. The same fire glowed in the others as well. "Why do that to innocent children? They aren't even a part of this fight!"

Again the Venerable Druid turned a questioning gaze to Getafix. The younger druid's eyes spoke volumes to the elder. He _needed_ to tell these people everything. Getafix had been right; they deserved to know. Panic was inevitable, no matter what he said, and the truth was far less harmful than lies. Fixing his eyes back on the short warrior before him, the Venerable Druid dropped his next sentence like a menhir. "Because he wants to get to you, Asterix."

Asterix blinked, leaning back as though affronted, before leaning forward defiantly. "But why?!"

"Asterix," Getafix spoke up softly, "Remember when I told you about the man Mastix killed back in the Carnutes?"

"Yes. Prolix, wasn't it?"

Getafix nodded. "Do you remember why Mastix attacked him?"

Asterix let his mind wander back to the beginning of that horrible week. He remembered their conversation in the druid's hut; though he couldn't remember all of it. But he did remember the more important bits. "Because he had a special gift of some kind. A...A light of some sort. Mastix tried to take it from him, but it killed the druid in the process." He looked back and forth between the druids, his face awash in confusion. "But what does that have to do with _me_?"

With as little amount of tact as a stone, the Venerable Druid revealed his discovery with one, solid, indisputable sentence; plain and simple. "You, Asterix, are of the same kind as Prolix was. You are a Solas Anam."

Asterix recoiled as though he had been slapped. Surprise was quickly replaced with strong disbelief. "What? No I-"

But the Venerable Druid interrupted. "The definition of a Solas Anam is a man, or in a few cases, a woman, who is blessed with a wonderful inner strength. They are kind and full of immeasurable courage. They seem to affect all those around them, like a bright light in the midst of darkness. Their hearts are pure; empowered by a selfless love for others. It is very rare. I was fortunate to have known one in Prolix; but to find another, born in such close a period as you were; it is truly a very rare thing indeed."

"But that isn't me!" Asterix wasn't sure why he was so opposed to the idea, but for some reason it frightened him. More responsibility. More of this whole nightmare revolving around him. Through this whole ordeal, he had been at its center. It hadn't been so bad when Mastix's spells had been focused on him; but on the others...It meant that now their suffering was because of _him_. And Asterix found that more painful than anything else he had ever endured. He didn't want to accept that there was something different about him; something special that had brought all this horror down on the other Gauls' heads. He just wanted to be him; just plain old Asterix, warrior of his village. That was special enough for him.

Asterix's unexpected outburst was met with silence. But then, ever so softly, Obelix's low voice broke through the quiet.

"It is you."

Impedimenta nodded, deciding to give her own observations. "You've protected us again and again, against incredible odds. You've taken on problems and missions that should never have been given to any man. And yet you've accomplished them with...with selfless love. Asterix, the druid can't be wrong. It must be as he says."

The wings on Asterix's helmet seemed to droop. His eyes moved from one face to the next defeatedly; finally coming to rest on his own druid. In his eyes shown a small glimmer of hope. Getafix wouldn't lie. Getafix wouldn't say it was true unless it was. "You believe this too?"

With only a hint of hesitation, Getafix answered. "I do." He watched as a look of resignation seeped into his troubled friend's face. There was another long silence; stretching on for what felt like an eternity. Finally, Asterix gave a sigh, before turning to walk away. Getafix stepped forward, placing a hand on the Gaul's shoulder to stop him, much like the Venerable Druid had done to him earlier that night. "Where are you going?"

"For a walk," was the rather short reply. Asterix gently slid away from the druid's touch. He didn't want Getafix to think he was mad, because he wasn't. He was concerned, exhausted, burdened, and anxious. He just needed a little time to think.

Obelix moved to follow."I'll come with y-"

"No." Asterix inwardly flinched at his own harsh tone. "No, Obelix...I...I need to be alone. Just for a little while."

The villagers and the druids watched as the blond warrior stiffly made his way across the room and exited out the hut's doorway. Even after he had left they remained still, looking in the direction he had gone. They were concerned. It was dark outside, though the absence of the patter of drops on the roof indicated that it had stopped raining. But they didn't like Asterix out of their sight; especially now. Asterix had taken the druid's news very hard, though why wasn't absolutely certain. It made them want to surround him; comfort his distress. Obelix especially felt like running out right after him. But Asterix wouldn't like that. And now wasn't a time to fight. Asterix would be back; he just needed a moment to collect his thoughts. It was his right.

The Venerable Druid shook his head in bewilderment. "Amazing."

"What is?" Obelix asked, a little defensively. He was a little hurt that Asterix had told him to stay; and a little upset that the Venerable Druid was the one who had darkened his friend's mood.

Eyes still locked on the empty doorway, the elder continued to observe with grin irony. "Here we stand, trapped by a man whose whole life has been devoted to being unique, and yet we are defended by a man who _is_ unique, and wishes he were anything but."


	24. Not Alone

Obelix sat very still. Sometimes that was just what he needed to do. When all around him seemed to be messed up and confusing, he would sit down and try to understand it. Not that he was dumb. He understood perfectly what was happening; the danger that loomed over them all like an ever-present cloud of pain and depression. He understood that Mastix was evil, and a threat to the village...A threat to Asterix. But that wasn't what Obelix felt the need to sort out in his mind. He had been given a lot of information, and, in all truth, he felt overwhelmed...but not surprised. So, Asterix was special? Of course he was. Asterix had always been special, and Obelix had always known it. All the way back to when they were children; back before he had fallen into the Magic Potion. Asterix had always been that firm foundation; a pillar of strength against the teasing of the other boys. Asterix had always fought for him; been there for him. Of course Asterix was special.

But Asterix didn't want to be, and that was what Obelix couldn't understand. Obelix knew he himself was special; blessed with a strength that never faded or tired, and he _liked_ it. Obelix liked being strong, and fast, and...well, he wasn't fat, just big boned. He liked being different from those around him. But Asterix did not. It had upset Asterix, and Asterix had left. Alone.

And now Asterix had been gone for most of the night.

Obelix had paced back and forth throughout the hut until Impedimenta was forced to ask him to stop, for fear of him wearing out the floor. He had found it hard to get himself to stand still, ending up sitting on a stool in the corner, nearest the door, his legs crossed and clutching his hands in front of him in an effort to stay there. Getafix had also shown some anxiety over the time that had elapsed, but the Venerable Druid assured them that Asterix was fine. How the elder knew this was beyond Obelix's understanding, like so many things that had happened of late. But the Venerable Druid's words seemed to ease Getafix's distress, and Obelix decided to trust the old timer's declaration. If Getafix believed him, than it had to be true.

Obelix had always been one to try and understand things; and often times he succeeded...but lately, it had been hard. What with all the spells and magic and all. Too many questions floated around in his head, making the situation seem all the worse. Mastix kept making it through the protection spells; that seemed to be the main problem. Obelix had asked how that could be. Why Mastix had found it so difficult to break through Getafix's protection, but so seemingly easy to break through the Venerable Druid's spell. After all, the Venerable Druid was supposed to be stronger and more steady. Why were things never what would make logical sense?!

Getafix's answer had been that, since his own spell had been a fluxing, pulsating mess, it had confused Mastix because of its irregularity. Mastix had been unable to force his magic through the shield because his magic hit it like oil on water; they didn't mix. In order for something to make it through the spell, it had to be the same. 'Oil' mixed with oil; 'water' mixed with water, with no exception. Getafix's spell had been like a gourd of oil and water, shaken until it was in such disarray, that Mastix could not break through it. But the Venerable Druid's spell was all oil; strong, sturdy oil. But, with only one 'element' to struggle through, it actually weakened the effectiveness of the protection. Obelix supposed that made sense. Not fully, but enough that the turmoil in his mind was calmed, at least a little. It really didn't matter whether he comprehended everything or not, as long as someone he trusted, like Getafix, did.

All around Obelix, quietly sitting in the hut's various nooks and crannies, the Gaulish families recovered from their ordeal. A few of the children had drifted off into a sort of exhausted doze, but most were far to frightened to do so, for fear of more nightmares assaulting them in their sleep. Even those who did drop off would suddenly wake with a small gasp, snuggling deeper into their parents' arms. The mothers and fathers themselves gripped their children protectively, hugging them close and rocking; soothing any way they could; trying to ease the horror and fear within the young ones' hearts, as well as their own. Even Dogmatix, who usually stuck to Obelix's side like glue, strayed from his master to comfort the children; moving from one to the next to offer a little, soft, friendly companionship. No one had gotten any sleep, resulting in a village of pale, sickly looking villagers, all with dark shadow-like circles under their eyes. They looked terrible. A week of insufficient sleep had really taken its toll; and, though there was plenty of food stored within the village, no one had felt particularly hungry of late, their appetite destroyed by worry and anxiety. Few had eaten much, other than a few bites here and there.

Impedimenta had taken it upon herself to change that. She had always been quite motherly, though sometimes it was hard to see under her sometimes snooty attitude. But her heart was really very caring and kind. She saw the misery and fear in the eyes of her husband's villagers, and felt great pity for them. Somewhere within her she felt relieved that she and Vitalstatistix had no children of their own. The emotional pain that Mastix had inflicted on these poor families was bad enough to witness, but to actually be the parent, watching your own child suffer and tremble in your arms...it must be more painful than death. The expressions on their faces told Impedimenta that. Told her of the agony it was putting the adults through. No one was themselves. Everyone who was normally animated was subdued; everyone who was usually steadfast and strong seemed weak and trembling. No one was themselves...and Impedimenta could barely stand it.

Making another broth, like she had done so many times of late it seemed, she began passing out bowls of the warm nourishment to one and all, whether they said they were hungry or not. Some of the men, like Fulliautomatix, had shaken their heads, feeling far too uneasy to eat. But Impedimenta had insisted, telling them that they needed to keep up their strength. If not for their own sake, for the sake of their children. It was a dirty trick, Impedimenta knew, but the last thing they needed was anyone getting sick. Fulliautomatix had hesitantly complied, and the other men quickly followed his example.

The last person she served was Obelix, and it was _his_ lack of appetite that worried her the most. She had not seen him eat, at least, not at his normal level of consumption, in over two days. Oh, sure he had had a little bite here, a little sip there, like everyone else; but Obelix had always required far more food than the rest of them. If he didn't get nourished to the proper extent, he could become quite weak. The villagers, as well as Getafix, believed that to be one of the few unfortunate side-effects of Obelix's fall into the Magic Potion when he was a little boy. It had sped up his...what did Getafix called it? Metabolism?...Whatever it was, it had sped it up to an incredible rate. Though Getafix had never told Obelix himself, the druid had made it quite clear to the others that it was only by a miracle that Obelix had survived. The Magic Potion, in small amounts, could be a wonderful and amazing thing. Too much could be very, _very_ unhealthy.

Approaching the menhir deliveryman a little hesitantly, Impedimenta gently lay a hand on the distracted Gaul's arm. He jumped slightly, and she realized that he had been deep in thought; unaware of her presence.

"I'm sorry, Obelix," she apologized, "I thought you heard me coming." She didn't like the look of him. Up until this night, of the villagers, Obelix had been suffering most. Besides Asterix, of course. But, while all the Gauls cared for Asterix deeply, they could never come even remotely close to the bond Obelix and Asterix shared. Seeing his best friend in such agony had tortured Obelix himself. Having to stand there, full of such strength, and yet helpless to do a single thing, had nearly killed him. It had driven him so hard, he had hardly slept; hardly eaten; and it was starting to show.

Obelix sighed, turning two, pain-filled eyes to hers. "I guess I was thinking about something."

Impedimenta handed him the warm bowl of steaming broth, slightly worried when Obelix barely even gave it a glance. "About Asterix?"

The large Gaul nodded, fighting back a few tears that threatened to all at once appear. He looked away quickly, facing the door so that the Chief's wife wouldn't notice. He wasn't entirely successful. It literally hurt to not be by Asterix's side when his friend was so upset. All Obelix wanted was to know that he was safe; close by and out of danger. But, as of the moment, he didn't even know where Asterix was. Sure, the Venerable Druid had said Asterix was safe for the moment, and sure, Obelix had decided to believe that. But that didn't mean that Asterix didn't need him.

Impedimenta pulled another stool up, setting it right in front of him. She sat upon it, talking softly so only he could hear. "You're worried about him." It was a statement. She wasn't asking; she knew.

Her kind, sorrowful eyes pierced the blockade Obelix had built around his heart, finally reaching him. "I...I have to be with him. I can't...Mastix has hurt him so much already. But then he goes and does...does this." He swept an unsteady arm in the direction of the huddled families. Obelix shook his head sadly. "Asterix will take that harder than any attack Mastix has used on him before. Asterix...Asterix will feel it's his fault." It felt good to say it, instead of it tumbling around in his head, making him feel sick. Asterix really did need him, he could sense it...but Asterix had pushed him away. The sun had risen, evidenced by a very dim sort of haze through the dark, depressing sky. It was no longer raining, but the clouds remained, making everything shadowed and hopeless.

Impedimenta glanced to the far corner opposite them, where Getafix and the other two druids were talking in low, earnest tones. She knew they were trying to come up with ways to strengthen the protection spell, and that gave a little comfort. Turning back to Obelix, she smiled gently. "Why don't you go find him. Make sure he's alright."

"But Asterix said-"

"I heard what he said," the woman cut in huffily. "He doesn't think we're a part of this fight; that he has to shoulder all these burdens himself. He's pushed us all away, because he's afraid we might get hurt, when the fact is that he needs us terribly. He says he wants to be alone. _Alone_. Do you really believe that, Obelix? Does that sound like the Asterix you know so well?"

Obelix hesitated, but then shook his head. While Asterix quite often declared that he wished to be left alone, Obelix, through the years, had found his friend really needed the exact opposite. Impedimenta was right. Asterix tended to push others away when he felt they were in danger. He was always willing to take the brunt of whatever happened, but not without ensuring the safety of the others first. But, deep down, Obelix knew it was all a front; a mask to hide the true fear Asterix was feeling. But how had Impedimenta...?

The Chief's wife laughed softly, reading the question on his face. "I'm a little more observant than I appear to be," she chuckled. Tilting her head toward the steaming bowl of broth held in Obelix's stone-worn hands, she became a little more serious. "Why don't you go find him and give him that broth. He must be hungry, and he needs to stay strong." She got up and handed him a large piece of bread she had smuggled over to him in the folds of her skirt. "This is for you. Please, eat it. We can't afford to lose you or Asterix; nor anyone else within these walls. You can't take care of Asterix if you don't first take care of yourself."

Obelix gently took the bread from her outstretched hand, actually managing a genuine smile. He nodded, and Impedimenta sighed, as though in relief, before turning and heading back to the others. Obelix stood there a moment or two, letting her words sink in a little deeper. Then, making his decision, Obelix turned and, as quietly as possible, snuck out the door and into the village outside of Vitalstatistix's hut.

* * *

Despite the fact that the rain had stopped, the village was still very flooded. It soaked into Obelix's shoes and splashed up onto the legs of his striped pants, but he didn't care. The ground was cold and muddy, but he didn't care. The water came up almost to his knees in some places, but Obelix didn't care. All he cared about was finding Asterix. But that was easier said than done. His friend could be anywhere. Asterix had many places that he could be found any normal day; Getafix's hut, the forest, the quarry...But this was not a normal day. Getafix's hut was off limits, as was the forest; and Obelix was sure the flooding in the quarry would be over Asterix's head. So, the question remained, where would Asterix go?

Obelix stopped walking, standing in the small river that ran through the village square. Asterix would be feeling sad and frightened. He only felt that way very rarely, but when he did Obelix always found him sitting at the table of Asterix's hut. It seemed a rather impractical place to go, especially when nearly all the huts were flooded, and Asterix was a very practical person...most of the time. In a situation like this, he might not be thinking all that clearly. After all, getting upset about being a...a Solas Anam, wasn't really all that practical, and neither was going out alone into the village. At night. With a crazy druid bent on getting his hands on him. No, Asterix wasn't himself. Obelix knew his friend very well. Asterix would be scrambling for any small scrap of normalcy he could find, practical or no. Making his decision, Obelix headed in the direction of Asterix's hut.

The walk was terribly wet and slippery. There was more than once where Obelix's feet slid out from under him and it was only by his keen sense of balance that he didn't end up sitting in the mud, or spilling any of Impedimenta's warm broth. It made the trip seem as though Asterix lived a forever and a day away, when, in fact, it was a very short distance. The smaller man's hut was located across from Geriatrix's cottage, which sat behind Cacofonix's tree, which stood next to Unhygenix's home, which was only a hop, skip, and a jump from Vitalstatistix's hut. In short, almost directly beside Obelix's own cottage in the Northern end of the village. On any normal day, Obelix could have run the path blindfolded; but not today. The water had eroded the walkways, leaving terrible ruts, and the path felt odd and unfamiliar under his feet. He took it slow; careful, but determinedly making his way along as fast as the sludge would safely permit.

After what felt like an eternity, Obelix found himself standing before the door of Asterix's cottage. Despite his anxiety to find his best friend, Obelix discovered he was more than a little hesitant to go inside the, what appeared to be, abandoned hut. Asterix had made it quite clear that he had wanted to be left alone; but he had said 'just for a little while', and it had certainly been far longer than that. Taking a deep breath, Obelix gently pushed the cottage half-door open and squeezed in across the threshold, which was barely big enough to permit him through.

All was dark and quiet inside the hut, and even though it wasn't bright or sunny outside, Obelix found that he had to wait for his eyes to adjust before he could see anything. In the meantime, the splashing and dripping he was hearing, as well as the large amount of water seeping into his shoes, told Obelix that Asterix's home was indeed very flooded. The menhir deliveryman eased himself forward, his eyes now sufficiently adjusted to recognize certain shapes, like the ladder leading to the second floor, the hearth on the far side of the room, and a wooden table slightly to Obelix's right. But there was an object close to the table; in fact, sitting _at_ the table, that caught the big Gaul's attention immediately.

Obelix felt his heart melt. He had expected to find Asterix pacing wildly, trying to come up with a desperate plan; pushing himself until he collapsed. But what he found was an Asterix who had already gone through that stage; who had already collapsed, and had now fallen asleep sitting at his own, lonely table. He had been pacing, of that Obelix was sure. He saw the mud and moisture on Asterix's pants and shoes, where the brown water had reached much higher than it did on himself. At some point, Asterix had tired, and, settling down at the table, had slowly succumbed to his exhaustion. He couldn't have lasted long after that. Leaning forward, arms folded on the table in front of him, Asterix's head had eventually lowered in sleep; his face buried in his arms.

For a moment, Obelix almost decided to turn around and leave him; let him rest in peace, but Impedimenta's words echoed in his memory, and he changed his mind quickly. Asterix couldn't be left alone. Obelix knew his friend. He always did what he felt was right, no matter the cost to himself. Obelix could practically feel it in the room; the residual thoughts that must have been running through Asterix's head while he paced. Selfless love often gave way to selfless sacrifice, and that was something Obelix would not stand for. He had seen the blond Gaul do it before. Seen him put himself in danger without a second thought. Well, not this time. They were doing this together; whether Asterix wanted it that way or not.

Fueled by that thought, Obelix gave Asterix a light shake; or, at least, it was meant to be a light shake. In reality, the action very nearly knocked the blond warrior from his seat to the water creating a lake within his home. Asterix jumped, far more flinchy than Obelix liked, which implied he had not come up with a solution to their current problem. After a moment's blinking and glancing about, Asterix's tired, and slightly red, brown eyes met Obelix's blue ones. With a bit of shock, Obelix realized that his friend, at some time or another during the night, had been crying. And that frightened the large Gaul more than anything else.

"Good morning, Asterix," he said cheerfully, in an effort to hide this latest discovery. Asterix never cried; not since they were little. He couldn't have cried much; no, not Asterix. Not a full grown man; a warrior...but a man under an incredible amount of stress...Yes, Obelix could see that. "I've brought you something from Impedimenta." He set the still steaming bowl of hot broth on the table in front of his friend. He then sat across from Asterix pointedly, as if reinforcing his next words. "You should eat it."

Asterix shifted his eyes down to the bowl, which was so close to his arms that he could feel the warmth it gave off. After a night in a cold, damp hut, it felt increasingly inviting. But the thought of eating turned his stomach. He felt like he had a belly full of butterflies. Anxiety always did that to him; though, he had to admit, this was the worse it had ever been that he could remember. Pushing the broth a little bit away from himself, Asterix shook his head. "Thanks, Obelix; but I'm not really hungry."

Obelix blinked once or twice, before leaning back slightly and crossing his large arms over his broad chest. "If you don't eat, neither shall I."

Asterix's expression changed to something not quite readable. "When did you last eat?"

The larger Gaul shrugged carelessly, sporting as defiant an air as he could manage. "Can't remember."

The blond warrior's eyes widened as a look of pure, genuine concern bloomed in his expression. He sat up in his seat, bracing his hands against the table in worry. "Obelix! You know you get very ill if you don't eat!*"

"I know."

"But...But that's serious! Getafix told you that you mustn't let that happen again!"

"I know."

Asterix let himself fall back into his previous, seated position, realization dawning on him. Obelix was trying to force him back into some aspect of their normal routine. He was trying to bring everything back to the way it had been before, but Asterix wasn't even sure that was possible. He had almost forgotten what it felt like to be carefree and happy. It had only been a week, but for some reason it felt like an eternity. Obelix, he knew, was feeling it as well. That dark cloud that seemed to hang over everything, casting it in shadow until one wondered if light could ever return. "Obelix..."

"I won't eat until you do," the large Gaul repeated forcefully. His stomach growled loudly, which only strengthened his case to guilt Asterix into complying. He really was starting to feel rather ill, but if Asterix was going to be stubborn, so would he by Toutatis! This was no time for his friend to neglect his own needs; an action Obelix deemed as crazy. How did Asterix expect to do any good at all if he was too weak to accomplish it? Why did Asterix always have to make everything so complicated? Obelix wished he knew.

Asterix looked back down at the bowl, then back up at Obelix. He really wasn't hungry; and though he appreciated Impedimenta thinking of him, it really wasn't necessary. None of this was necessary. She didn't have to make him broth; Obelix didn't have to trudge through Toutatis knew what muck and mire just to bring it to him. And it wasn't really necessary that they should worry about him...or was it? Asterix glanced around him; at the dank, dark room filled with nearly a foot of cold, foul-smelling water. He looked down at himself, at his soaked pants, speckled with mud and grass. Then he took in the dim haze of the rising sun outside his window. Lastly, he looked back up into Obelix's face. The large Gaul was doing his best to remain resolved, scowling and glaring at him from across the table. But beneath that mask of stubborn strength, Asterix saw the fear; the worry; the pain. The same feelings he felt shuttling through his own tired mind and body.

What a fool he'd been.

Of course it was necessary. To Obelix, to Impedimenta, and to everyone else, it was necessary. Just as Asterix felt a strong need to keep _them_ safe, they felt a strong need to do the same for him. They worried, and concerned themselves with his health. It was odd, but Asterix had never really seen it that way before. He always assumed it was him, with his sword pointed at the world, protecting them, when, in reality, it was a duel relationship. They fought for him too. It wasn't all on his shoulders, and Asterix wasn't sure if that was a relief or cause for alarm. He didn't want to share the burden with anyone else, anymore than he wanted to bare it himself...

"Asterix?"

The blond warrior looked up sharply, realizing that he had become very unfocused. It must have startled Obelix, because the large Gaul was now leaning forward, searching his face worriedly. Asterix could see the anxiety in his friend's normally cheerful expression, and he realized he needed to pull himself together; if not for his own sake, than for Obelix's. Reaching out both his hands, Asterix took hold of the bowl in front of him and moved it closer with a gentle smile. "Alright, Obelix. You win."

The flash of joyous triumph that flitted across Obelix's face was worth eating something he didn't really feel like eating. The large Gaul sat back down with a thump, all smiles; as though there wasn't a thing out of place in all the world. "I think it's boar broth again," he commented cheerfully, watching like a hawk as Asterix lifted a spoonful to his mouth.

Asterix had expected his stomach to respond unkindly to the liquid nourishment, perhaps in a very unpleasant fashion; but as the first traces of warmth trickled down his throat and into his gut, he realized it was just what he had needed all along. He felt his energy levels being restored, and his appetite slammed back into existence with a vengeance. Sitting up a little straighter, he began to eat with a little more enthusiasm. Looking at him, one might have thought he was expecting a seven year famine.

Obelix smiled at the way Asterix tucked into his meal; and, pulling out the chunk of bread Impedimenta had given him, he too started on his breakfast. It was a crumb compared to what he would normally have, but to tell the truth, for once it was all he wanted. He'd probably regret it later, but Obelix's mind was still far too troubled to eat as heartily as he usually did. Asterix still looked depressed to Obelix, and that could be dangerous. Asterix had the ability to keep his head even in the midst of great danger, or chaos, or disaster; but when his thoughts had dropped to darkness, that was when Asterix made drastic decisions. Luckily, to date, everything had always turned out fine in the end, though there had been a few close calls. Very close calls. And while Obelix could always save his friend from Romans, Greeks, or Phoenicians; against Mastix he could do nothing. That had been made quite clear. Each of the dark druid's attacks, whether on Asterix, Getafix, or the children, had been completely out of Obelix's power to divert. They were like poisonous arrows, that no matter how thick, or how strong a shield may be, could not be stopped from piercing those closest to him. Obelix all at once wasn't the least bit hungry.

Asterix glanced up from his nearly empty bowl. It had been good; he had to admit. Impedimenta was really quite a talented cook, for her to be able to take something so simple as broth and make it taste as good as it had been. The blond warrior's eyes fell to the half a loaf of bread held in his companion's hand. Obelix was staring down at it, not really seeing it; obviously deep in thought. The menhir deliveryman had only taken a few bites, which worried Asterix further. Obelix was always hungry. Thinking maybe it was an error on his part, Asterix cleared his throat and set down what was left of the broth. The wooden bowl made a soft thunk as it met with the old, worn planks of the table, catching the larger Gaul's attention and bringing him back to the present. "Thank you, Obelix."

Obelix blinked a moment, then looked down at the bowl of broth. "Oh, I didn't make it," he explained quickly, "Impedimenta-"

"I didn't mean for the broth."

The big Gaul tilted his head in confusion, suddenly looking uncommonly like Dogmatix. If Asterix wasn't thanking him for the food, what could he possibly mean? He had brought nothing else with him, besides the chunk of bread, which he had kept for himself. "Then for what?"

Asterix smiled, shifting a hand to carefully pat Obelix's arm. The same arm that sported a hand-shaped burn mark. _His_ hand. It was healing nicely, and didn't seem to be paining Obelix at all, but that was beside the point. Obelix had been hurt, because of _him_. The children had been scared because of _him_. And who knew what else might come. All because he was a...a Solas Anam. Because of _him_. But Obelix and the villagers had stuck by him despite the danger. Despite the pain. But how much longer could they stand it? How much longer could _he_ stand it. Asterix hid these troubled thoughts behind a mask of fake ease but genuine gratitude. "For everything else. For being you." Asterix shivered as a breeze found him through the open half-door of his cottage.

Obelix reached out a hand nervously, as if he weren't quite sure what to do about it. "You're chilled?"

Asterix tried to keep his teeth from chattering. It was a bad sign that the temperature had dropped. From experience, the Gauls had found that to mean that their protection spell was weakening, allowing small tendrils of Masrix's frigid power to seep through. Or maybe he was just catching cold, like some of the other Gaul's had. "A little, but the broth is helping."

They sat in uncomfortable silence for several agonizing moments. The only sound was that of the water lapping against the legs of Asterix's table. It was odd; they never found it hard to talk about things normally, but for some reason, this time it was borderline painful. Both knew what was on the other's mind, but the first didn't want to discuss it and the second was almost afraid to ask. Almost.

"Why did you stay out here, Asterix? You should have come back indoors."

Asterix sighed wearily, setting his helmet on the table and running a hand through his tousled hair. His tone changed quite quickly to one of annoyance, just as Obelix had been afraid it would. "I am indoors. And I told you; I needed to be alone."

"All night long?"

Another shiver traveled up Asterix's spine. He really didn't want to be talking about this. "...I wanted to stay away from the rest of you. I thought maybe Mastix would sense I had separated myself, and would leave the rest of you alone."

There was another long pause before Obelix could muster the courage for the next question. "Have you thought much about what the Venerable Druid said? About being a Solas Anam?" They were getting right to the problem now, and the large Gaul knew it wouldn't be pretty. He could practically feel the hair raise on the back of Asterix's neck as the question hung in the air like a heavy cloud.

Asterix's voice dropped to a lower pitch, just as he lowered his eyes, suddenly finding the tabletop very interesting. "Yeah, I have." He sighed, and it sounded far shakier than Obelix liked. "Quite a lot. And I'm more confused than ever. I don't _feel_ any different, Obelix. I don't _feel_ special. This supposed gift has done nothing but bring pain and suffering to our village. _I've_ brought nothing but pain and suffering."

Those were the very words Obelix had been dreading. It marked that the blond warrior had reached his lowest of lows; his most dangerous of lows. Urged by fear, and without thinking, Obelix stood powerfully to his feet, bracing both hands on the table. "Asterix! That's not true!" he yelled; far more anger than anxiety resonating in his outburst. But he wasn't angry; he was worried. He was frightened. And, as mentioned before, sometimes the easiest way to bury fear, is by covering it with anger. It doesn't get rid of it. It only masks it. But never very well.

Asterix looked startled and taken aback at his friend's sudden change in demeanor. But then his face hardened in his own exasperation. Standing on his seat, Asterix also braced himself against the table, doing his best to glare into Obelix's eyes. "Isn't it?!" he shouted back, his voice just barely cracking. He waved a hand all around them; at the flooded hut and the pressing darkness. "Look around you, Obelix! Look at what I've been the cause of!" He slammed a hand down on the wood, ignoring the stinging pain it caused. "This isn't a gift; it's a curse!"

Obelix leaned forward even more until their noses were almost touching. He was red in the face, and looking more and more wrathful by the second. Channeling as much frustration as humanly possible into his next sentence, he growled, "Well, I think _Mister_ Asterix is mistaken!" The familiar, taunting title slipped from his tongue automatically, bringing back something very normal to his life; but by no means pleasant.

Asterix didn't miss a beat. "And what does Mister _Obelix_ know?!"

"THAT HIS BEST FRIEND COULD DIE!"

The words crashed down like a stone in Obelix's heart. He hadn't meant to say it. He hadn't wanted to say it. But he had said it. His worst fear; his nightmare through all of that week's horrendous chaos and terror. Through all of their pain; Asterix's pain. That one frightening prospect had hovered in the large Gaul's heart and mind...and now he had said it. It was like signing a deed. Like just mentioning it made it all the more possible. The sudden realization of what they were doing; fighting when there was a chance that Asterix might...The sudden realization slammed into Obelix painfully, and his face all at once went very, very pale. Stumbling back a step, he let himself fall back, plopping to the flooded floor, not caring about how wet it would make him. And burst into tears. Real tears, not like those of a frustrated child, but like a man who has held the pain and fear and sadness inside of him for far too long. People were never made to contain such torment, and eventually, it needed to be released.

Asterix felt incredibly guilty. His friend's words had hit him hard, and he realized that Obelix had been suffering just as much from this experience as he had been. Just on another level. Asterix always forgot how sensitive Obelix was to things like that. After all, when someone is more than twice your height, and about seven times larger in stature, you begin to fail to remember that they are not as indestructible as they appear. His friend, like anyone, could only take so much; and Obelix had now reached his limit.

Asterix stood on his seat, arms hanging limp at his sides, watching in grief as his best, closest friend in all the world cried brokenly. It was the worst thing he had ever witnessed. And it was all his fault. He shouldn't have gotten angry; and over what? Nothing. Nothing of importance, anyway. Not when compared to Obelix's hurt feelings, and crushing fears. Carefully climbing down and setting his feet on the immersed surface of his hut's floor, Asterix waded forward, coming to stand in front of his weeping friend. "...Obelix..."

But Obelix wasn't finished. Through the arms that hid his face, the large Gaul's muffled voice continued to shout; far to upset to calm down yet. The words were strained and interrupted by pained sobs and hitches as Obelix's body tried to get in sufficient air through the tears. "T-That his closest...closest fri-friend is being...careless, and- and s-s-silly, and crazy, just because...because he doesn't want to b-be special!"

"...Obelix..." The words hurt all the more, because they were true.

"But you _are_ special, Asterix!" Obelix burst out in one forced breath. "To all of us! And if you can't see that then..then what's the use of even trying! If you've given up, then we all have! You're the hope of the village...you're...you're the light that shines through all this darkness..." His voice had started out angry and hurt; loud. But it ended as a whimper; soft and agonized. For a moment all that was audible within the hut was soft sniffles and heaving breaths of sorrow. But then, just when Asterix was about to try and speak again, Obelix whispered three more, small sentences that cut him to the heart. "You're Asterix. And you _are_ special. Because you're my friend."

Asterix's knees gave out on him and he sank to the floor, overwhelmed. Did he really mean that much to these people? To Obelix? But the more Asterix thought about it, the more he saw it was true. He himself would do anything for them; was it possible that, without realizing it all these years, he had failed to see that they felt the same way for him. His mind switched back to all the times he had been treated unfairly, or talked down to; or accused of something or other. But, then there were the times that they had stood up for him; taken care of him. Like that past week. Was he any different? His main goal was always to keep them safe; but how many times had he lost his temper. Lost it and said something he couldn't take back. Like right now. "...Obelix, I'm sorry...I didn't mean to be...I didn't mean to be so harsh and angry. I just feel so...lost."

Obelix lifted his tear-stained face; disturbed by the resignation in his friend's voice.

Asterix wouldn't meet his eyes, instead looking down at the water he was kneeling in; coming almost up to his waist. "What do I do?" The question was weak; vulnerable. Empty.

There was a silence, before Obelix's voice, low from crying, broke in raspily. "What do _we_ do."

Asterix shook his head sadly. "No, Obelix; this is a burden I have to carry alone."

"Why? Why do you have to?!" A hint of anger flared in the voice again, before weakly flickering out.

"Because I'm the village warrior."

Obelix huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. He was switching between different emotions so fast it was making him feel sick. "And we're the _friends_ of that village warrior," he pointed out strongly. "We live in the _same_ place, do the _same_ things, eat the _same_ food, have the _same_ beliefs in what's right and wrong. I see no difference between us."

"Obeli-"

"Do you?"

"I-"

"Do you?!"

Asterix cringed as he realized that he really didn't. "...No."

Obelix seemed satisfied by that answer. "Good. Because there isn't. You're a man, just like me. Just like all of us. You need food, and rest, and _help_ sometimes. It's not something to be ashamed of. It's something to be _proud_ of. That's what sets us apart from men like Mastix. He has no friends; but you do. We can do this together. Just let us help." The large Gaul suddenly seemed to realize the depth of his words. It was unusual for him to do the task of talking things out and explaining things. That was Asterix. But now, all at once, he had known exactly what to say and how to say it. He had understood the problem and addressed it. And the boldness and certainty with which he had done so was...embarrassing. He met Asterix's stunned gaze and shrugged. "That's...That's all I have to say."

Asterix looked up at him with an expression of total bafflement, which dissolved into thoughtful understanding. He didn't want to admit it; it was hard to admit it; but Obelix was right. He didn't have to face this alone. The ache in his heart was still there, along with a lot of the more negative emotions; but Obelix's words seemed to smooth them over. At least for the moment. Asterix gave a defeated smile. "...Alright, Obelix. You win." A twinkle of mischief glittered in his eye, trying to restore the small tear he still felt between them. "So I'm just a man now, am I? So much for being special."

"Sometimes just being what you are is special enough." And Obelix was serious; more so than he had ever been in his life. But there was still that cloud of dark hopelessness behind Asterix's gaze, and it worried the large Gaul to no end. A sense of foreboding seemed to settle about them; had been there for days. But it was steadily growing, prompting Obelix to try one more thing to ensure his friend's safety. "Asterix...?"

"Yes?"

Obelix studied the muddied water in front of him, swirling it gently with his large finger. "Promise me you won't give up." He paused, waiting for the blond warrior to respond. But he was only met with silence. Startled by his friend's reluctance, the menhir deliveryman snapped his eyes up to the smaller Gaul's pale, tired face. "Asterix?!"

Asterix wasn't meeting Obelix's gaze, that slightly pained expression having returned. He flinched as Obelix's voice rose an octave at his lack of response. It was a silly request. He didn't know the future. He didn't know what might happen today, tomorrow, or the days after that. How could he promise? How could he say something that could spiral so quickly out of his control?

But Obelix's eyes, moist from his breakdown only a few moments before, glimmered with that one final hope; that he would give his word. It was an anchor that the largest Gaul needed so badly. And Asterix felt he couldn't rob his best friend of that. Slowly, and hesitantly, Asterix responded softly. "I promise I will do everything and anything I can to keep you all safe." He could promise no more than that.

It seemed to be sufficient enough for Obelix. The large Gaul wiped an arm over his eyes with a sniff, before making his way to his feet. Reaching down, he offered a hand to help Asterix up as well. The blond warrior accepted gratefully, and a moment later they both stood, side by side, dripping wet, but smiling.

"And I will do whatever I can to help," Obelix added sincerely. And Asterix knew he meant every word of it.

"ASTERIX!"

The loud, panicked shout drove a stake into the peaceful quiet of the hut. From the tone and pitch, it sounded like the village bard. Fearing the worse, Asterix and Obelix quickly made their way outside. They were greeted by the sight of Cacofonix running about, searching for them. He seemed terribly frazzled, yelling out repeatedly in a strained, frightened voice. "ASTERIX! OBELIX! HELP! COME QUICK!"

"Over here!" Obelix bellowed, the deep inflection of his voice echoing all around them. The bard jumped slightly, but then started to stumble and slip through the muck and mire to reach them.

The minstrel slid to a halt in front of them, nearly falling over as he did so. Asterix steadied him, fear evident in his eyes. Asterix already knew the answer to his own question before it even left his mouth. "Cacofonix?! What's wrong?! Is it Mastix?!"

The bard nodded hurriedly, trying to catch his breath. "It's Impedimenta!" he gasped, "Something's wrong with her!"

Asterix took off at a run, without so much as another word. He knew this was Mastix's doing. That ache in his heart grew, making his breathing hitch for just a moment as the negative emotions flooded back. Mastix wasn't done with them yet. The fight wasn't over.

"Hurry!"


	25. Deepened Reach

There are times in our lives when the world feels like it just suddenly stops; stands perfectly still. As though every living thing just vanished; every sound, every feeling, every thought; just gone, as though it never existed. And all that is left is that one focused point, the reason for this paralysis that makes your heart feel as though it had ceased to function. It is a rare occurrence, one that may only happen once in a lifetime. It may happen when you find the love of your life, and your soul is full of joy, as though nothing in the world could hurt you. But then, at some time or another in some peoples' lives, there comes a second occurrence. One that is dark in comparison; frighteningly so. When tragedy strikes this feeling can return, but not as it once was. The joy and energy is taken away, leaving the body feeling weak and empty; the mind filled with aimless thoughts of pain and hopelessness. It is the feeling as though you want to do something, but can't, because you do not know how. And so you freeze. You cease to do, feel, or think anything at all, other than the throb of pain and fear that beats within you.

That was how Vitalstatistix was feeling. His world had just come crashing down around him, and he did not have a clue as to how to fix it.

Th Chieftain knelt beside his pale wife, searching her face for even the slightest spark of life. But he couldn't. Not visibly anyway. The faint sound of labored breathing was the only thing that proved Impedimenta was even still alive. Other than that, she was completely still. Vitalstatistix felt tears fill his eyes, but he brushed them away quickly. As village leader he couldn't afford to let the others see him break down emotionally. He had to stay strong for their sake. For Impedimenta's sake. Gripping her slack hand as though he were afraid to let her go, the Chieftain trembled beside her, unaware of anything else going on around him. Every ounce of his being firmly focused on her. Though he was very vaguely aware that someone was trying to move him away from his wife, which only made him cling all the more; immovable.

"Vitalstatistix! For Toutatis sake; move aside!" Getafix's words sounded harsh, but his movements were anything but as he gently took hold of the younger man's shoulders and tried to shift him a little to the left. But Vitalstatistix was no lightweight, and when he didn't want to be moved, he couldn't be. And he _didn't_ want to be. His slightly larger hand and fingers, now almost as pale as his wife's, were stubbornly intertwined with Impedimenta's own, and Getafix could see they were shaking ever so noticeably. The village druid came to the conclusion that he would have to work around the anxious husband. Kneeling and gently forcing himself between the two, Getafix lay a careful hand on Impedimenta's forehead just as Asterix, Obelix, and Cacofonix came barreling through the door and into the hut.

Asterix felt the change in atmosphere immediately. He could literally feel the fear and worry resonating from the villagers lining the walls, all eyes focused on one thing. Impedimenta. Asterix's own eyes fell upon the still form, feeling his heart twist painfully in his chest. The Chief's wife looked so...so motionless. And pale; almost white. Her eyes weren't scrunched up in agony; instead closed lightly, as though she were simply sleep. But that possibility didn't even cross anyone's mind. They knew who it was.

"What happened?" Asterix realized he had whispered the question, before trying again; louder. "What happened?" He moved forward, coming to stand directly behind Vitalstatistix and lying a gentle hand on the Chieftain's shivering back. The blond warrior could almost feel the waves of mental torment coming from the man, filling Asterix with great pity.

Getafix seems far too busy checking the woman's vitals to answer, so Valuaddetax hesitantly stepped forward. "She was just finishing her task of gathering up all the bowls used to serve breakfast. She seemed perfectly normal, talking kindly and trying to cheer up the children, when, all at once, she just collapsed. Went all limp and still."

"Were there any signs before that? Symptoms?" Asterix absently patted Vitalstatistix's shoulder, willing as much strength into his leader as he could, without even realizing it.

Fulliautomatix answered that question from his place in the corner, where he still clung to his family. "She seemed to be dizzy a few moment before it happened," he reported. "Dizzy and a little weak. She leaned a hand against the wall, seemed to recover, then took a few steps before dropping." Several other villagers gave their agreement, confirming that what the blacksmith spoke was true. "Besides that there was no warning."

Asterix's concern deepened. It could have been exhaustion, or lack of proper nourishment; and, despite how bad either of those things could be, the blond warrior found himself wishing it were all that simple. But a feeling in the pit of his stomach told him this was no mere coincidence. Impedimenta wasn't one to just tip over unconscious. She was strong, sturdy, and stubborn. And extremely vocal. If she had felt ill, she would have mentioned it to _somebody_. But the fact that she had not done so was worrying, and the unpleasant solution was becoming more and more evident. "Can you tell what's wrong with her, Getafix?"

The druid's face was fixed in concentration, as he carefully, but hurriedly, looked over the short woman by his side. He didn't like the pale, pasty tint that had spread from Impedimenta's face, all the way to her small, stocky fingers. Her breathing was slightly irregular, as was her pulse. Not enough to be a danger, but definitely enough to be of concern. Motioning to Valuaddetax to assist him, Getafix spoke distractedly. "She seems to be quite ill. I cannot tell with what, but it does include a fever."

Valuaddetax had stayed to the side, uncertain of whether or not he should interfere. At Getafix's invitation he hurried forward, kneeling down as well, and gently pushing his way between his friend and Vitalstatistix. He too checked the woman's wildly beating heart and strained breaths. After a moment, he glanced up at Getafix with a sad shake of his head. "I don't know what's wrong either, even with my knowledge of medicine. Since we do not recognize the sickness, and therefore cannot treat it, we must treat the symptoms individually. I believe it is safe to move her. She needs a more comfortable place to rest."

Bacteria, Unhygienix's wife, carefully stood, untangling herself from the grasp of her family. It was time to help, even if separating from her two sons and husband nearly made her feel sick. "I'll make her up a softer bed," she offered, already off to do just that. The fishmonger's wife's courage prompted some of the other women to detach themselves as well. It became a project; one they all sorely needed as a distraction; a chance to actually do something. While the men assisted in stacking two straw mattresses, the women and children donated every spare blanket they could find.

Mrs. Fulliautomatix raced for the kitchen, calling back over her shoulder, "And I'll get a cloth and some cool water." She was gone for less than a moment before she reappeared with a small bowl of water and a clean rag. But, due to the cluster of men about the unconscious woman, she found she could not get close enough to do any good. "Excuse me," was the most urgent comment she could utter. The menfolk all jumped and moved aside.

All, that is, with the exception of Vitalstatistix. He still seemed trapped in his own world of fear and pain, and the villagers were far too afraid to try and force him. They didn't want to hurt him. Asterix still had a hand on the Chieftain's back, and that had seemed to help; calming the tremors that had taken their leader at first. His reaction to the situation was...unexpected. And frightening. It was no secret that Impedimenta and Vitalstatistix fought quite often. Mostly, Impedimenta would nag, and Vitalstatistix would try and assert his authority, with little success; but the deep love the two Gauls had for one another was also no secret. In times of fear or distress, the two were inseparable. It was just that the villagers weren't used to it being so one-sided. Impedimenta could not give her anxious husband even an ounce of comfort, and it was obviously sending the Chief into an emotional panic.

The Venerable Druid, like Valuaddetax, had stayed to the side. His expression was calm, and stern, but with a glimmer in his eyes that spoke that he was indeed worried. When Asterix had burst in through the door, his eyes had settled on the young warrior at once. As a Solas Anam, Asterix was their first and foremost concern. He was the one person that had to be protected and watched, but that was proving more and more difficult. With all the chaos, attention could not be focused on just one person. The Chief's wife was very ill; that was certain. The Venerable Druid had no doubt in his mind that it was another attack from their foe, and surely not the last. That could not be ignored. Though, it was still a comfort to see, as well as feel, Asterix out of danger. Though the elder had not admitted it, he had been worried when Asterix had stayed out all night long. But, now that he was aware of it, the Venerable Druid could literally feel the short Gaul's presence, and had been able to even when Asterix had gone off alone. That was how he had known Asterix was still safe. Even now, he could feel that radiant, pulsating light that no one could physically see. From the moment Asterix had entered the hut, the light had spread, and the Venerable Druid realized that just Asterix's presence gave the villagers new hope. It was truly amazing. And now Asterix, without any knowledge of what he was doing, seemed to be willing that same light through his touch and into his distressed leader.

The elder decided it was time for him to step forward. His experience and knowledge of magic could still be of great help, even if his protection spell was not. Coming forward, he crouched beside Asterix, behind the Chieftain and slightly to his right. Knowing that the worried husband was making it harder to get anything done, the Venerable Druid took it upon himself to move the fellow the only way that came to mind at the moment. "Vitalstatistix?" The name sounded strange coming from his own mouth. Though he had memorized many of the Gauls' names since his arrival, the elder had still not used many of them. "Vitalstatistix, can you hear me?"

Both the elder and Asterix's brow furrowed at the lack of response they received. Asterix lifted his tired, brown eyes in question, seeming to ask what they should do. The look surprised the Venerable Druid. He had gotten the impression that Asterix didn't fully trust him; not that the Gaul could be blamed for that. After all Asterix had been through, it was a miracle he trusted any druid at all, even Getafix. But fear and desperation had taken a hold of all these people, and it fired the Venerable Druid's own efforts. Taking a deep breath and summoning a small wave of magic within him, the elder reached out a hand and lay it gently against Vitalstatistix's arm.

Asterix jumped back, startled into breaking contact as Vitalstatistix gave a flinch, caused by a slight shock that ran down the druid's arm and into the Chieftain's own body. Asterix had still been in touch with his leader; feeling the energy flash through them both, travelling up his arm from Vitalstatistix's back. It didn't hurt them; not even slightly. It was more of a feeling that ran through them; the kind that makes your heart skip a beat. Like when you dream, and in that fantasy the ground drops out from beneath you and you fall, and all at once you find yourself in bed, breathing heavily and clinging to your pillow as though it were the only thing between you and death. A powerful druid's equivalent to a gently, awakening shake.

The far off, dazed look left Vitalstatistix's eyes at once, and he blinked; seeming to come back to himself dizzily. He reached out and grabbed the Venerable Druid's sleeve to steady himself, and, though surprised, the elder druid didn't appear to mind. The Chieftain's vision attempted to refocus, and he mumbled out a few confused words. "Impedimenta...By Toutatis, I..."

The Venerable Druid leaned into the leader's field of sight. "Chief Vitalstatistix? Can you hear me now?"

Vitatstatistix looked blearily at him, his face still screwed up in grief. If he didn't know any better, the elder might have assumed the Chieftain's wife had died rather than her just being unconscious; so great was the sorrow and fear in this Gaul's expression. "...Yes..." the leader slurred, and Asterix wondered if, while the shock the druid had given him had cleared Vitalstatistix's mind, if it had not also had any poor effects as well. "...Is...is she going to...be alright?" The words came out slow and halting, and everyone present felt their hearts twist in sympathy.

Getafix looked up from his task of tending to Impedimenta, his natural care for his friends answering that soft cry for assurance. "She will recover fully if I have anything to say about it. But we need to move her. Can you let go? Just until she's settled somewhere more comfortable?"

The Chieftain's eyes flitted down to the face of his pale wife, a torn look mixing in with the grief. For a moment, it looked like he wasn't going to respond, but then, slowly and shakily, he loosened his grip on Impedimenta's hand, allowing her fingers to slip from his. The action seemed to take a lot out of him, and Asterix had to step forward to help keep the man from toppling over on his side where he sat.

"That energy you sent through him," Asterix fired off quickly, giving the Venerable Druid a stern glance, "It hasn't hurt him at all, has it?"

"Not in the least. I cured one shock with another, but that trick often is followed by slight disorientation. He'll be alright in a moment or two."

"Good." Asterix's short, heated answer implied that the elder was very fortunate that that was the case.

One of the children, Picanmix, stood on tiptoe to relieve his curiosity of what was happening. Though, try he might, he could not see over the heads of the adults gathered around. "Maybe it's just a little illness," he supplied helpfully, trying to show that, small though he may be, he could still approach this situation like the Gaul he was. "Like Cacofonix gets sometimes that makes him lose his voice and feel sick for a day or so."

Valuaddetax turned to the little boy kindly, as Getafix and Fulliautomatix gently helped move Impedimenta to the improvised bed. "I'm afraid that this is far more serious..." He turned to the Venerable Druid meaningfully. "And it simply reeks of Mastix's magical signature. It is he who has done this."

Vitalstatistix had recovered enough that he had been able to move over by his wife's new resting place. His movements were far less uncoordinated now, as was his speech. "Is...is there anything we can do to help her?" He had gently re-intertwined his hand with Impedimenta's, and he looked braced, as though he'd fight the gods themselves to stay near her.

Getafix took the cloth and water from Mrs. Fulliautomatix, wetting the rag, folding it, and setting it on the ill woman's flushed forehead. "Lowering the fever would be wise, but it is also a bit of a problem. A common remedy for fever is drinking an infused tea or such made from Achilea Millefolium*." A self-angered look of guilt flitted across the village druid's face. "Which, sadly, I no longer have in my stock. I ran out a while back and, it being summer and fevers far more scarce, I saw no need to gather more so soon."

The spirits of everyone in the room dropped to a new low. It figured. Just their luck. They all gazed down in sorrow at the very still form of Impedimenta, flanked by her husband and three anxious druids. If that one plant was the only thing that could have eased the Chief's wife's discomfort, what would they do now that that was no longer an option? They couldn't go out to gather more. That would be suicide. Mastix would be on that person so fast it was frightening. And if there was no more in stock...

"What does it look like?" All eyes turned to Cacofonix. He looked nervous, but far more excited than anything. He had recovered well from his journey to the Carnutes, though lack of sleep, like everyone else, was beginning to show in his thin stature. The villagers didn't seem to comprehend his words the first time, so he repeated, "What does the Achi-Achile...What does the herb or root look like?"

The Venerable Druid raised an eyebrow, but answered. "It is neither. It is a small, stalky plant; often with tiny flowers of white."

Cacofonix nodded, looking directly at Getafix this time. "You mean, like what you gave Soporifix last winter when he took ill last winter?"

"Yes," Getafix confirmed tiredly, running a hand down his exhausted features. "That must have been the last time I used it. It's very common in the forest outside our village. I regret now that I failed to gather some before it was sorely needed."

"They have feathery leaves?" The bard still seemed increasingly excited, as well as agitated.

Getafix begin to realize that this was far more than an innocent question. He sat up a little straighter, fixing all his attention on the thin musician. "Yes," he breathed, hardly daring to hope.

"I have some."

Cacofonix's words were like the sun coming out after an eternity of darkness. The other Gauls' reaction to them were just as analogical; they were stunned. They all stood, gaping at him, as though he had just declared that the world were round. There was a moment of silence before the shock wore off and Cacofonix's ears were assaulted by a resounding:

"WHAT?!"

The bard flinched back. "I-I have some. In my hut. A lot of them, actually; if we're talking about the same plant." He blushed, slightly embarrassed. "I've been collecting th-"

"For what?" Fulliautomatix cut in, his face filled with acute confusion.

Cacofonix turned an even deeper shade of red. "W-well, they're so pretty and, well, as a bard it's my job to write sonnets and odes to things I see. And, well, they sort of inspired me and-"

"That doesn't matter right now," Getafix interjected gently, rising and coming to lay a hand on the musician's shoulder. "Cacofonix, do you think you can go get and bring back all that you have stored?" He hated to ask. It seemed like they had been relying on the bard an awful lot lately. But this was urgent.

"All of it?"

"Yes; can you do that?"

Cacofonix nodded, trying to ready himself for the task. He had just come in from being outside the village and, frankly, he was very reluctant to go out there again. He was known for being far more sensitive than his fellow Gauls, and the depressive scene of their flooded, empty village was enough to fill him with such sorrow and grief that it almost physically hurt him. But for Impedimenta's sake; for anyone's sake, he'd do it. He had to. "I-I can, but I'll need help carrying it."

"I'll help," Fulliautomatix volunteered immediately. Being the strongest, besides Obelix, he knew he could be a help. After all, they were just grabbing some flowers right?

Cacofonix looked appreciative, but shook his head. "I'll need more than just one set of helping hands. If you truly need all of it, Getafix."

"Really?"

"Really."

Unhygienix could feel his wife's eyes fixing themselves on him. She expected him to volunteer as well. Reluctantly, the fishmonger offered his service. "I'll help too."

Getafix nodded distractedly, still working to manually bring Impedimenta's fever down in the meantime. Only he and Valuaddetax knew just how serious her condition was. With Vitalstatistix the way he was, Getafix wouldn't dream of telling him the dire need to lower his wife's temperature. Doing so would only make things harder. And telling the villagers would be unwise as well. "Good, good; now hurry. I want to get this fever down as soon as we can." He saw Vitalstatistix glance up at him worriedly, prompting him to add, "It will help make her more comfortable."

The three Gauls nodded, turning to head off to their task. They were almost out the door when a frightened cry made them turn right back around.

"Geriatrix! What's wrong?!"

Everyone spun in the direction of the voice, only to discover an _extremely_ distressed Mrs. Geriatrix supporting a _extremely_ limp Geriatrix. The woman, far taller than her husband though she may be, was struggling under the dead weight of the man closest to her heart. "He's unconscious!" she wailed as several Gauls came forward to assist her. "Just like Impedimenta!"

Getafix launched himself from his place alongside the Chieftain's wife and fairly flew across the hut to kneel next to the village's oldest resident. Checking the elder man's pulse, and watching as, just like Impedimenta, all color seemed to drain away from the fellow's skin, Getafix felt his heart give a nervous flutter. "It's the same thing!" he declared with despair, not even bothering to hide it. Turning to the door, where three figures still stood in shock, he shouted, "Cacofonix, Fulliautomatix, and Unhygenix; quick, go and get the flowers! I have a feeling this illness may claim far more of us than two!" And Geriatrix, being older, was far more at risk of the dangers of a serious fever. "Asterix! We need another bed!"

Cacofonix and his two companions left the hut at a run, the bard leading the way with a sense of panic welling within him. The other two struggled to keep up, trying to match their friend's impressive sprint. Even without the aid of the Magic Potion, Cacofonix's speed was a wonder among the villagers. The three splashed through, around, and over puddles; making their way across the village's main center, to the base of Cacofonix's tree. The bard started climbing, taking the winding steps with excellent balance, and without slowing down. Fulliautomatix arrived a moment later, making his way up at a far less graceful and far less breakneck pace. Unhygienix, on the other hand, was another matter.

The fishmonger came to a slippery halt at the base of the tree's pegged steps. His eyes widened, even more so than usual, as he gazed up at his fellow Gauls ascending so quickly...so very high up. He suddenly became very aware of just how reluctant he was to go anywhere near that cottage, way up in the sky; or so it seemed. "Wait, Cacofonix!" He flinched at the obvious anxiety in his own voice as the other two stopped and looked down at him. "...Do... Do I have to go up there?"

"That's where I keep the flowers!" the bard called down, shouting to be heard over the distance.

Unhygienix gnawed his lit nervously. "Can't you just, you know, toss them down?!"

"Why?!" came Fulliautomatix's deeper voice, his shout sounding almost amused, despite the situation. "You afraid of heights?!"

"No!" Unhygienix was not about to let that assumption get around. And it wasn't so much that heights frightened him, but, rather, the possibility of falling. "No, I'm not! I just think it would be faster if you tossed them down! I'll catch them, and then you two won't have to try and carry them down the stairs; especially if there's as many as Cacofonix says there is!"

Fulliautomatix looked as though he were about to make another less-than-desirable comment when Cacofonix interrupted whatever he had been planning to say. "You're right! Carrying them up wasn't easy, and down would be even harder! Stay there!" Unhygienix heard the bard say something to the blacksmith; probably trying to convince the stronger built Gaul to let it go. Then the two men finished their climb, disappearing over the top and running into Cacofonix's cottage above him.

Unhygienix let out a large sigh of relief. _That could have been a disaster._

* * *

Mastix hadn't had this much fun in _years_. He could literally feel the tense feelings of worry and pained grief floating out to him from that accursed Gaulish village. He could sense their anxiety; the pressing emotional agony his spells were causing. Ah, and he was enjoying every minute of it! Especially since he had actually managed to stumble upon a spell he had really quite forgotten about. Oh, and how well it was working! Each new attack was now laced with the most barbarous kind of sting; one that struck true every time and reaped the most amount of chaos and torture. Why hadn't he used it sooner?!

The spell, more of a chant really, enabled the dark druid to reach mentally into the very hearts of his victims and those around them. He could, dimly but accurately, sense their deepest _fears_. For the children, it had been nightmares of their parents' deaths, so real that Mastix was certain the images would last and haunt them for years to come. For that chubby, wimp of a chieftain, it was the fear of losing his dear, little, pathetic wife. And all of these horrors, when attacked directly, created in Asterix such agony that Mastix could literally feel it sweeping up and covering all the others in volume and strength. The time must be nearing now. After all, how much suffering could one man blame himself for and stand it? Asterix surely wouldn't make it much further. But, in the meantime, Mastix would enjoy his little...games.

"Now, where to strike next...Aha!"

* * *

"Here, hold these."

Fulliautomatix nearly stumbled back under the pure mass of more flowers than he had ever seen. They weren't heavy, being fairly small, but the amount was absolutely staggering. The blacksmith's arms were full of the stuff, and still the bard had more. "You picked all of these?"

Cacofonix busied himself with filling his own arms with the pleasant assortment of green and white. "Inspiration is important to a bard," he said simply.

Fulliautomatix glanced about him. The small, decorative flowers had been everywhere; in vases, piles, and even hanging in bundles from the ceiling. "Inspiration I can understand," he declared, "but this is ridiculous! Why haven't they shriveled up and died yet?"

"Getafix gave me a potion to spray on them to keep them. They last weeks, but never mind that! Grab the last bit and follow me out." The bard took his load out the door, leaving the blacksmith to the last few handfuls. The blacksmith all the while calling after him.

"You know, living so high up must have messed with your head. I mean, no one in there right mind picks _this_ many flowers, bard or no. One or two I could believe, but literally sacks full? That's a bit much. Hmm. Must be the thin air. Now, down below, the air is clean and fresh...except near Unhygienix's hut. Maybe you should think about mov - Cacofonix, are you listening to me?!"

Fulliautomatix turned, finding it odd that his friend should remain so silent. What he saw puzzled him further. The bard was standing out on the platform of his treehut, back to him, and standing perfectly still at its edge. Rigid even. Moving forward with a hint of anxiety, the blacksmith exited the hut to stand behind Cacofonix. "...What's wrong?"

The bard didn't turn, and his voice was just above a whisper. "I-I don't know...Do you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

"That...that..." His voice faded out weakly, leaving him standing exactly the same way, staring off into the distance blankly.

Below, at the base of the tree, Unhygienix backed up several steps so that he could better see what was going on. He could hear the murmur of Fulliautomatix's voice, but wasn't receiving any flowers; and time was of the essence. Finally able to see above the ridge of the underside of the platform, the fishmonger was surprised, as well as confused, to spy Cacofonix standing very close to the edge...and in the wrong spot. The bard was far more to the right than he should be, on the part of the platform just over Unhygienix's hut. He was standing perfectly still; dazed almost, as if something had caught his attention, freezing him in that one, rigid pose.

"Cacofonix; what are you doing?!" the fishmonger called up. He was feeling rather nervous, seeing the bard so very close to the edge. How Cacofonix could do so without feeling the least bit dizzy or phased was beyond Unhygienix's understanding. But there was more to it than that. The bard seemed too close...almost...

"CACOFONIX!"

Both Unhygienix and Fulliautomatix lunged forward, one in an effort to stop what was happening and the other hoping to reach underneath the bard in time. Because, at that moment, all at once, Cacofonix had gone completely limp. Like a puppet cut from its strings, he suddenly crumpled...right over the edge of the platform. He dropped like a stone, tumbling down, hitting Unhygienix's roof with a terrible thump. Too light to fall through, and having just missed the hole that still resided there, the bard rolled off, falling another painful drop down to the muddied ground below...where he then lay utterly still.

"CACOFONIX!" Fulliautomatix yelled again, dropping his bundle of flowers as he turned and raced down the pegged, spiral steps. He took them two at a time, reaching the bard only a few seconds after Unhygienix did.

The fishmonger was kneeling beside their friend, hovering his hands over the injured man's body with frantic movements, unsure of what to do; whether he should touch Cacofonix or not. After a fall like that, the bard could be very seriously hurt. Touching him might harm him more.

Fulliautomatix slid to a crouch at his side, panic evident in his expression. A little less hesitant he carefully reached forward and gently eased Cacofonix onto his back. He didn't want the bard choking on the mud, which might happen if they didn't move him at all. The minute he had done so, the blacksmith's heart faltered in fear. "Oh, this is bad! Oh _Toutatis_ , this is bad!"

Cacofonix was covered in cuts and bruises, some of which looked quite painful. One, a small cut on his forehead, was bleeding. Not a lot, but enough. Despite the soft straw that covered Unhygienix's roof, there was still hard wood and twig beneath it. Landed upon, and from such a height, the straw had done little to protect the bard against the sharp projections and hard surfaces. But that wasn't the worse of it. As Fulliautomatix removed his hand from the bard's shoulder, it came away strained with something wet and warm. _Blood_. "Oh no..." Laying his ear down to Cacofonix's chest, the smith was relieved to hear a heartbeat. Weak, and fast, but there none the less. "He's still alive." _But will he stay that way?_

"What do we do?!" Unhygienix practically screamed. He looked about ready to pass out, his nerves nearly to the breaking point.

Fulliautomatix felt his own anxiety rising. Blood was a bad sign. It wasn't something the villagers saw very often. Oh, sure, a little cut here, a tiny scrape there; that was normal. But this...this was far more than just a scratch. And it wasn't like they ever got hurt fighting the Romans. There had only been a few instances; very few and far apart. And they always left the villagers feeling panicked; not quite sure what to do. Except for _Getafix_.

Jumping to his feet, the blacksmith took charge at once. "Stay here with him! I'll go get help!" He would have run off at once, but Unhygienix leaped upon him, grabbing two fistfuls of Fulliautomatix's leather apron.

"No, don't go! What am I supposed to do?! What if he-"

Fulliautomatix grabbed the shorter Gaul's wrists and pried them off his front. "Just stay with him!" he shouted, already heading off in the direction of Vitalstatistix's hut. This time he didn't care about getting wet; running right through every muddied rut and puddle. There were far more valued things at stake than just some dirt clothes.

Unhygienix dropped down to kneel beside his motionless friend once more, his mind a mess of emotions. How could Cacofonix have just fallen over like that? How? After all these years! How could this have possibly happened?!

It had happened just like he had been afraid it might...


	26. Collapse

The temperature seemed to have dropped far lower than it should have been. Or maybe it was just the icy feeling that had crept into the fishmonger's soul. He felt as though he were chilled; a cold lump in his throat and stomach like he would never even think of eating again. His hands were shaking too, but that wasn't because of the cool air. That was because he was afraid. He'd never admit it. Never. Not to anyone...but he was terribly afraid.

The moment Fulliautomatix took off running, Unhygienix had returned to crouching beside his injured friend. He felt his throat tighten painfully as he shifted his gaze from one hurt to another that covered Cacofonix's body. Most were just little cuts, but that wound on his shoulder was bleeding enough that his white and blue-checkered tunic was slowly turning a dark, crimson red. It contrasted horribly with the bard's pale skin. Pale as snow, just like Impedimenta's and Geriatrix's. It was a color the fishmonger was beginning to dread. He could imagine it breaking out on his wife; his children. What would he do then?

But right now, it was Cacofonix who needed attention. Stretching out a quaking hand, Unhygienix gave the bard's uninjured shoulder the slightest motion of a shake, so gentle it must have been barely noticeable. "C-Cacofonix?"

The bard made no movement, nor sound. Unhygienix gave a shivering sigh, lowering his gaze to the musician's arm. It was hard to tell just how bad the wound was; half of Cacofonix's body was tangled in the bard's bright, red cape. Steeling himself, Unhygienix carefully leaned forward and unfastened the gold, circular clasp that held the cloth about the bard's shoulders. Then, hesitantly, he tried to disentangle his friend from the folds of the fabric. The motion, however gentle, still must have pulled or bumped against something, for all at once Cacofonix gave out a gasp, twitching in a way that Unhygienix was sure only hurt him more.

Flinching back, the fishmonger sat on his heals, trying to figure out what he should do. But then, slowly, he realized there was _nothing_ he could do; not until help arrived. He was no healer, nor was he a druid. Anything he tried might harm Cacofonix to a greater extent. And so, as much as it pained him, Unhygienix did absolutely nothing. He sat, rocking slightly back and forth, just like he used to whenever he was upset as a child. For that was how he felt.

"I should have been able to stop this," he whispered sadly. "Of all days to...to be afraid of climbing those accursed stairs." He closed his eyes, as if trying to block out the image. It was something he was certain would haunt him for quite some time. Reopening his misty eyes, he glanced up at the tree hut far above them with a sigh that caught in his throat. "I...I never got to thank you for...for the kindness you showed my little boy last night." Tears were threatening to fall, but he wiped them away, even though there was no one to witness it. His voice was becoming increasingly unsteady. "I-I felt so useless, not being able to console him. But you offered yourself to take my place, just for a moment. And, what's more, you could have been hurt yourself by doing so." Memories of touching Asterix and being burned, as well as the pain it had caused, came to mind. "We didn't know whether Mastix's magic was upon them. You could have been burned, like Fulliautomatix and I had been...but you did it anyway. And I _know_ the thought crossed your mind. I saw it in your face...But you did it anyway."

The fishmonger nearly choked on a sob that threatened to become audible. This whole week had been so messed up. Mastix was a monster; always seeming to target those who deserved it the least. Not that anyone deserved such cruel actions against them. But Mastix always attacked those who were less likely to fight back; least likely to be _able_ to fight back. Asterix, the children, and now Cacofonix. Oh yes, Unhygienix was certain the bard's fall was the dark druid's doing. It had to be.

Squeezing his eyes shut in emotional anguish, the fishmonger lowered his head in total defeat. "...How can I ever thank you for what you did...And how can you ever forgive me for how I treated you these last several days. I was...I was harsh and cross, all because of a little accident. Sure that table put a hole in my roof, but no one was hurt. But, rather than being grateful for the blessings of friends and family, I let myself get angry. And, unfairly, angry at you. And then you traveled all the way to the Carnutes and back for us, and I never even thanked you for it. How...how can I ever make this right. Please...Please forgive me..." He let his face rest in his hands; broken.

"...Un-Unhy-gienix..."

The soft, halting voice, added to the almost undetectable brush against his arm, caused Unhygienix to startle terribly; lifting his head with a gasp. He was rewarded with the bard's blurry, blue eyes looking up into his own. The fact that Cacofonix was conscious took a moment to set in, before the fishmonger gave a shout of surprise.

"Cacofonix!" His friend winced, reminding Unhygienix that he should keep his voice down. After such a fall, it wouldn't be unnatural if the bard had a horrible headache. "Shh," the fishmonger indicated, more to himself than anyone else. "Shh, don't try to move. Fulliautomatix has gone to get help."

But Cacofonix _did_ try to move, despite his friend's warning, gasping when the motion proved to be too much. He fell back, panting, trying to focus his eyes on the black, tan, red, and yellow blob he knew was Unhygienix. He licked his dry lips, blinking sluggishly, as if that would do any good. "I-"

He got no further before a terrible cough took hold of the him, wracking his body mercilessly; and very painfully. Each cough hurt more than anything he had experienced before, robbing him more and more of breath, and keeping him from taking any air in. Unhygienix did his best to help, but there was really nothing he could do. After a long, dreadful moment, the coughing ceased, and Cacofonix was once more panting weakly for breath.

The fishmonger held a comforting hand on the bard's uninjured shoulder, as if to hold his friend in place lest he try to move again. His eyes were full of concern and sympathy, with just a hint of panic. "I don't think you should speak right now," the fishmonger said gently, trying not to show just how desperate he was feeling. He kept sending longing glances in the direction of Vitalstatistix's hut, praying that at any moment Fulliautomatix would appear with help. Cacofonix might be conscious, but he was obviously in a lot of pain. Each of the bard's arduous breaths was punctuated by a sharp wheeze that made Unhygienix increasingly nervous. The fishmonger's attention snapped back to the musician when Unhygienix felt a shaking hand weakly grasp his arm.

Cacofonix felt terrible; twenty times worse than terrible, but he had one thing he wanted to say. _Needed_ to say. When he had slowly crossed over from unconsciousness, he had vaguely heard the end of Unhygienix's guilt-ridden words. The fishmonger was feeling responsible because he hadn't apologized? The bard thought they had already resolved this. Maybe not in words, but the general feelings of hostility had diminished ever since he had left for the Carnutes. There was nothing to be guilty _about_. And there was no way that Cacofonix could convince Unhygienix otherwise without speaking. Reaching out with a quaking hand, the bard gained his friend's attention. "...But I...just wanted to...tell you...I for...give you..." That was the most important thing; to reassure the fishmonger that he wasn't holding any of this against him. The next most important thing was to say, "I...I'm...s-sorry..."

Unhygienix blinked once or twice, then shook his vigorously. "No, no; you have nothing to be sorry for," he insisted, griping the bard's uninjured shoulder just a tad bit more firmly. "I never should have...Hey! Hey, don't pass out on me! Come on, Cacofonix! Stay awake!"

Cacofonix startled, wincing as he tried to keep himself conscious. His eyes were clouding more than ever now, and a tinge of gray was creeping into the edges of his vision. "...I don't...think..." The bard gave a shudder as his eyes fluttered shut; becoming still once more. Unhygienix stared down at the limp figure with an anguished expression, feeling the anxiety from before return with a vengeance. Giving his friend a hesitant, reassuring pat, even though he knew Cacofonix was no longer conscious to feel it, Unhygienix sent another anxious glance in the direction of the Chieftain's hut.

"It's alright. It's going to be alright. Fulliautomatix is coming..."

* * *

BAMM!

Fulliautomatix flew through the door of Vitalstatistix's hut like the wind, slamming the wooden structure loudly against the wall behind it. He was out of breath, despite the short distance from Cacofonix's tree to the Chieftain's cottage, and his eyes held a wild, panicked expression. All the villagers jumped at his entrance, except for those who were taken ill; a number which had grown even since the three Gauls had left a short while ago.

"By Toutatis, Fulliautomatix!" Mrs. Fulliautomatix cried, surprised by her husband's unusually fast and uncoordinated movements. The blacksmith was more of the strong, slow type. He moved when he needed to, and, should the situation arise, he could move quite quickly; but nothing like the hurried, frantic movements she saw now. She realized at once that something had to be amiss. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"Cacofonix fell!" the blacksmith gasped out, supporting his weight against the wall as he fought to regain his breath. "From his tree! Cacofonix fell!"

Getafix, who, along with the other two druids, had been ministering to the Gauls who had suddenly been taken ill, jumped to his feet. The panic that had been in Fulliautomatix's voice was all at once carrying in his own. "What?! Oh, by Toutatis!" The village druid made as if to rush from the hut, but a strong hand hastily snatched his arm, keeping him from doing so.

"You can't leave these villagers," the Venerable Druid said sternly, without loosening his grip. He knew that his past student's emotions had gotten a hold of him again. "These people need to be taken care of; they may not make it if you don't help Valuaddetax." He was vaguely aware that Asterix was now standing close to Getafix, obviously trying to determine whether he should interfere. The Venerable Druid saw that the Gaul's hand was gently resting above the hilt of his sword, though Asterix made no move to draw it.

Getafix turned on his past mentor as though the elder had just requested that he cut of his own arm. "But Cacofonix needs help just as badly; if not more so!" he cried angrily. He felt torn; frustrated, mostly because he knew the elder was right.

The Venerable Druid's face softened just a bit. "I know. Which is why you must stay with those here. I am more powerful than you; I may be able to do more for Cacofonix than you or Valuaddetax could. In a similar way, I would be useless in tending to the ill, for I have no knowledge of disease, like the two of you do." He glanced over at Fulliautomatix. "Which means we still need those flowers. Do you think you can carry as much as you can and bring it here, Blacksmith?"

Fulliautomatix nodded dizzily, still rather stunned by the disastrous turn of events.

"Good, go do so." The elder turned back to Getafix who he still held firmly, and who was still looking very defiant. "I will take care of the bard, Getafix. Let us use our gifts where they will be most useful."

After a moment of indecision, the village druid backed down, nodding as he returned to Geriatrix's side, trying to ease some of the discomfort the fever was causing him. Getafix hated to admit it, but the Venerable Druid was right. While he himself was quite an accomplished druid, his powers paled in comparison to the Venerable Druid's own. The wounds Cacofonix had sustained were no doubt quite serious, in which case magic, rather than medicine, would be needed to stabilize him. Meanwhile, Valuaddetax could assist him in bringing down the fevers of the sick Gauls, something the Venerable Druid knew nothing about; especially since Getafix's cure for it was of his own invention.

"I'm coming with you," Asterix declared, stepping up to stand directly in front of the Venerable Druid.

But the elder shook his head, kneeling to better match the short Gaul's height. "I do not believe that to be wise, Asterix. The whole point of these attacks and injuries to your friends is to try to force you to surrender yourself to Mastix. We can't let that happen. Seeing Cacofonix, at least, before I can determine his condition, may prove to be too...distressing. Please, stay here until I return. I promise that I will do my best to help him." He knew Asterix wouldn't feel satisfied with standing by and doing nothing. "You have my word that, as soon as I have looked him over, I shall bring him here; then you can assist all you want. Just let me go first; please."

The emotional stress that passed through Asterix's expression was clearly visible; but he, just like Getafix, saw the wisdom in the elder's words. He nodded, shifting his gaze to the floor. It was very possible that the druid was correct; that seeing Cacofonix in whatever state he may be in, might send Asterix over the edge. As it was, he could feel himself slipping into an almost needling sense of conviction; that he should end it all and just give up. But the Gaulish Warrior inside of him, or maybe it was that Solas Anam, held him firmly in check. At least for now.

Turning and heading for the door, the Venerable Druid found Fulliautomatix still standing in the doorway. The druid recognized shock when he saw it, and that was undoubtedly what the blacksmith was struggling to overcome. He was gazing around the inside of the hut, taking in the numerous persons who had fallen to whatever illness Mastix had plagued them with. That, mixed with Cacofonix's fall, was obviously stunning him to immobilization. Knowing that they had no time to deal with such weakness, the Venerable Druid took hold of the burly man's shoulders and gave him a firm shake. It felt a little cruel, especially since Fulliautomatix couldn't help it, but the elder knew that it had to be done.

"The flowers, Fulliautomatix!" the Venerable Druid said loudly, "The flowers! Go get them!"

However hostile the motion, it worked. Fulliautomatix snapped back to reality, and headed off at once; the Venerable Druid following him swiftly.

* * *

When Unhygienix spotted the quickly approaching blacksmith and druid, he very nearly cried in relief. He was a little confused as to why the Venerable Druid was being brought instead of Getafix, but that was only momentary. What did it matter which druid came to help? As long as they _could_ help.

The Venerable Druid reached them swiftly, motioning for Fulliautomatix to go and fetch what flowers could be salvaged. Many had gotten crushed or lost during Cacofonix's fall. The elder knelt down beside the fishmonger, his eyes already taking inventory of the bard's injuries. "He is unconscious."

It wasn't a question, but Unhygienix felt inclined to answer anyway. "Yes. But he woke up for a short while, before he passed out again."

That seemed to worry the druid, who suddenly looked a bit more panicked. Reaching forward to try and disentangle the cloak from Cacofonix's shoulders, just as the fishmonger had tried to, the Venerable Druid explained his concern. "That is not a good sign. The fact that he was awake, but then succumbed to unconsciousness again implies that he is not suffering from just a bump on the head. Which he does appear to have acquired." He gently ran a finger over the cut on the bard's brow. Turning to the next most evident injury, the druid took hold of the bloodstained material that covered Cacofonix wounded shoulder. He gave a quick jerk of his hands, ripping the cloth open so as to better access the injury.

Unhygienix couldn't help wincing at the terrible wound. It wasn't very big, but it was deep. It was a puncture mark, that much was plain. The blood escaping the injury hid most of the damage, but beneath it there was visible a far darker region, where something had managed to stab inward, reaching deep into the bard's shoulder. Thankfully, whatever had pierced the skin was no longer there. Though, as he watched the substantial amount of blood leaking from the wound, Unhygienix wondered whether that was a good thing, or a bad thing.*

"Tell me exactly what happened," the druid commanded, as he worked to stanch the flow of red, using the bard's now tattered cape. It was muddy and soiled, and the Venerable Druid found it hard to find a patch of the material that would not infect the wound with dirt. "It will help me find and treat his injuries."

Unhygienix found it hard to direct his eyes away from the puncture wound in his friend's pale skin, but he forced himself to, finding that it eased the nausea in his stomach. "He...he just suddenly went all rigid; up there on his platform. Just started staring into space. Then he...he went completely limp. He fell from the right and..." This part filled him with even more guilt. "He hit the roof of my hut. Then he fell again to here..."

The Venerable Druid nodded, something akin to relief in his eyes. Detecting the convicted tone in the fishmonger's voice, the druid spared a quick, pitying glance in the man's direction. "Do not blame yourself for his injuries, just because he landed on your hut," he insisted, continuing to minister to his patient. "If he had not fallen on your roof, before landing on the ground; and instead fell straight down, it is very possible he would not have survived."

That lifted the veil of guilt from the fishmonger's eyes just a bit, but also filled him with a sickening wave of fear. It had been that close? They had truly been _that_ _close_ to losing Cacofonix? The thought was one that made him shudder, before pressing it out of his mind. Dwelling on that which had not happened would do little to help the current situation.

"This wound," the druid continued, "was probably caused by him landing wrong on one of the various branches that make up your roof."

"But my roof is covered in straw," Unhygienix said weakly, trying not to envision the event.

"Yes, but that straw covers a good deal of wood, which, upon hitting a peg or protruding beam, may very well have been what caused this." The elder took hold of the bottom hem of his white robe, giving another sudden jerk of his hands, thereby ripping a long, thin strip of the material off. Reaching forward, he gently wrapped the clean cloth around the bard's arm and shoulder. This led to another discovery. "This arm appears to be broken."

"Broken?!" No wonder Cacofonix had gasped when he had tried to unwrap the cloak from that limb.

"Yes; notice the odd angle at which it is being held, even in unconsciousness? That would indicate that it is broken...about here I would say." He pointed to the region of the bard's arm, just below Cacofonix's elbow. Now that the elder pointed it out, Unhygienix noticed the dark, purple discoloration under the skin.

"How do we fix that?" the fishmonger asked nervously.

"It must be set. Which requires realigning the break and then wrapping it securely. But that is something I cannot do."

Unhygienix tried to keep the accusation out of his voice; not quite succeeding. "But why not?!"

The Venerable Druid finished tying off the makeshift bandage around the bard's shoulder. "I am not a healer, young man. I do not know how."

"But you just dressed his shoulder wound!" the fishmonger exclaimed, fear welling up inside him that perhaps Cacofonix was beyond any help.

The elder turned to him sharply, not out of anger, but of concern. "Unhygienix," he said firmly, suddenly remembering the man's name, "I am not a healer. But many know how to dress a wound; it is common knowledge among druids. But I am not doing nothing. As we have been sitting here I have been using my powers to ease his pain."

Unhygienix was taken aback. Glancing down, the fishmonger realized that, even while the druid had been ministering to his friend, the elder's left hand had been lightly resting on Cacofonix's chest. But what that meant, Unhygienix wasn't sure. "How?" he breathed.

"All druids specialize in different areas. For Valuaddetax, it is healing; for Getafix it is creativity. For myself it is the knowledge of magic. I have the ability to transfer strength, if need be, using an old form of mental chant. Very simple magic really."

Unhygienix returned his gaze to the druid's wrinkled hand. "But why did you come out instead of Valuaddetax then?"

The Venerable Druid nodded, understanding the Gaul's confusion. "Being a healer does not mean that things are cured at once. It is simply the knowledge of healing by herbs and remedies; not magic. I knew that your friend's injuries may be very serious. Though we will still need Valuaddetax's skill to heal him, it is magic that was needed to stabilize him enough to be treated. Otherwise, we may have lost him before he could be treated medically. Does that make sense?"

Unhygienix nodded slowly. He didn't understand it all; but he understood enough. The druid was saying that Cacofonix's injuries may have killed the bard long before herbs or potions would have done any good. But, so far, there were no injuries that proved to be that serious...unless... "You're keeping something from me." An observation, not a question.

The Venerable Druid heaved a sigh, keeping his hand very gently pressed against the bard's upper chest. There was no point in hiding the truth. The Gaul had a right to understand. "It was very possible that, after a fall such as his, that he may have been suffering from broken ribs. At the least, one. The worst case scenario would be that a broken rib had punctured one of his lungs. This was what I feared when I came out to you."

The fishmonger felt a lump form in his throat. "And...and does he?"

"My magic detects two broken ribs; but neither have injured his lungs. But moving him could prove a problem. Then again, we can't leave him here."

"So what do we do?" the fishmonger asked softly, thanking their luck that the bard had been spared a far more serious wound.

"I am using my power to strengthen him, and magically securing his inner injuries. That should keep him safe as we move him." The druid shook his head sadly. "He will be in great pain for some time; but none of his wounds are fatal."

Unhygienix nearly passed out in relief. "Oh, thank Toutatis..."

"Indeed. But we will still have to be very careful when we move him. In fact, we-" Whatever the elder was going to say was interrupted as Cacofonix gave a small, almost undetectable groan. "Ah," the druid said softly, as though he had expected that very thing to happen.

Cacofonix's eyes slowly opened, blinking rapidly as they tried to focus. After a moment, they did enough for him to recognize the white-bearded fellow leaning over him. He opened his mouth to say something, but the Venerable Druid interrupted him before he could speak.

"I don't want you to talk. You are badly hurt, and doing so may harm you further."

Unhygienix flinched, remembering all the talking Cacofonix had done before falling unconscious.

"Just try to breath normally," the druid instructed, continuing to will as much energy into the frail body as he could. The bard was nearly strong enough to move. Turning his head to the fishmonger, the elder explained, "I was expecting him to awaken. The strength my magic has filled him with is to thank for that. Though, whether a blessing or a inconvenience, that remains to be seen." Feeling the energy within the bard reach its fullest, the druid faced Cacofonix and spoke gently. "We are going to have to move you indoors. If you feel as though you can't handle that, you will let me know."

Ever so visibly, Cacofonix nodded.

"Alright," the Venerable Druid approved, "Now we just have to-"

Just at that moment, Fulliautomatix ran up to them. He had just finished carrying all the little, white flowers he could find back to Vitalstatistix's hut; returning to the Venerable Druid's side to assist the second he had finished. "How can I help?" were the first words out of his mouth as he came to kneel beside them. His eyes lit up in hope when he saw that Cacofonix was conscious, but then flickered when he saw what a struggle it was for the bard to remain so.

"Ah, good," the druid said, seeming extremely pleased with the blacksmith's reappearance. "We're about to move him indoors," he explained. "We need something to wrap him in; something not so covered with dirt and blood. We cannot risk any of his wounds being infected."

Fulliautomatix blinked before looking down at his own leather apron. It was a little wet, from the rain and running through puddles, but it wasn't nearly as muddy as anything else available. Plus, the inside was far cleaner than the outer. Reaching behind his back and hurriedly untying the strings, the blacksmith removed the thick cloth from his front. "Will this work?" he offered, holding the apron out to the druid.

"Yes; yes, that will do quite nicely." The Venerable Druid didn't take the cloth, however; instead, carefully easing his right hand beneath the bard's shoulders, while still keeping his left on Cacofonix's chest. Succeeding, he gingerly lifted the injured man into a sort of limp sitting position. Cacofonix winced at the motion, but was otherwise unresponsive. Motioning to the blacksmith with his head, the druid instructed, "Help me wrap him. Gently."

Fulliautomatix nodded, almost afraid to do so. Cacofonix was a thin fellow normally; injured, he seemed too frail to touch. But the druid knew what was best. The blacksmith carefully draped the leather about the bard's shoulders' mindful of the injury. He wished his apron were made of something finer, like cloth; but they'd have to make due with what they had.

Together, the three men managed to get Cacofonix securely covered, wrapped snugly, but not tightly, within the folds of the fabric. The strings of the apron came in handy, making it easy to secure the leather from slipping off. Cacofonix stayed relatively quiet throughout the process, only gasping if they accidentally moved too quickly. As they finished the task, Fulliautomatix held out his hands.

"I'll carry him."

The Venerable Druid looked grateful, but shook his head. "That is very kind of you, but that cannot be. My magic is the only thing giving him strength. If I am not touching him, that strength will leave his body, and we will not be able to move him."

Fulliautomatix looked confused, but accepted that explanation. Can you...you know, manage him yourself?"

The elder gave a genuine smile. "I may be old, but I have not lost my strength. Just help me lift him, and I'll carry him to the hut." It was true; the druid was quite sturdily built. Not as much as Fulliautomatix, but certainly more than Cacofonix. He was a good head taller than Getafix in size as well.

Crouching to make the action as smooth as possible, the Venerable Druid gave the bard a quick look. "You'll let me know if your pain increases?" When Cacofonix nodded, the druid slipped his arm beneath the bard's shoulders once again, as Unhygienix and Fulliautomatix assisted in helping the elder to stand with the added weight. Which wasn't much; Cacofonix was uncommonly light, due to his thin frame and stature.

Cacofonix gave a small gasp and a whimper half way up, causing the men to pause, but the bard nodded for them to continue regardless. Making sure that the druid's hand remained on the injured man's chest the entire time, the men finally succeeded in lifting Cacofonix up off the cold, hard ground.

"Alright," the Venerable Druid said firmly, shifting the bard carefully, so as to have the best grip. "Let's get him to the hut."

Slowly and gently, the three headed in that direction, mindful of the injured bard in their care.

* * *

Vitalstatistix's hut had become more of an infirmary than a home. Every spare corner was occupied with makeshift beds of blankets, cloth, and even clothes; a resting place for the ever growing number of sick Gauls. Valuaddetax and Getafix had had a rough time of making a potion out of the little white flowers that would be sufficient to bring down the dangerously high fevers. It worked, or moderately so; bringing down their temperatures to a more tolerable level. But it didn't cure it. Whenever a fever was finally brought down, several minutes later it would spike, returning to its previous height. Those who had fallen ill first where worse, indicating that this sickness was one that only continued in severity. Coughing broke out about an hour after being infected; hitting the patient hard, conscious or no.

Impedimenta, naturally, was in the most perilous condition. Vitalstatistix clung to her side like glue; but was also now aware of the others suffering around him. He did his part, helping where he could, taking care of those bedded close to his wife, so as to be near her.

Geriatrix, whose age was proving an unfavorable factor in this situation, was being treated lovingly by his wife. But things were looking bad, as some of the more serious cases were developing other, far more unpleasant symptoms. But none of the druids knew what was wrong. The disease, virus, whatever it was, was not one known to man. It was irregular; unpredictable, and, if not cured, Valuaddetax feared it may be fatal. But the druids would die themselves, if that was what it took, before they would lose anyone to the dark druid, Mastix.

And then, of course, they had Cacofonix to care for. The bard was far too injured to be lain on the hard floor of the hut, even with blankets spread out for him. And so, with the Chieftain's permission, the only bed, on the second level of the hut, was given to Cacofonix. No one had used it up to this point, seeing as no one felt one Gaul should be more privileged than another. When the illness had broken out, many wanted to stay near their families. But Cacofonix needed quiet, as well as a safe, sanitary bunk, where no one would accidentally trip over him, or spread dust on his wounds. Carrying the bard up into the loft was difficult, but with numerous helping hands it was soon accomplished.

Valuaddetax come up to look over the injured man, cleaning the bard's shoulder more thoroughly, wrapping it in linen, and then setting Cacofonix's broken arm. Everyone present winced at the cry of pain the bard gave as the bone was shifted, and then securely wrapped. The Venerable Druid kept his hand firmly pressed to Cacofonix's chest until all that could be done had been done. Valuaddetax managed to get a small painkilling potion into him before the Venerable Druid carefully removed his touch and the bard slipped into a fevered sleep. It still didn't feel sufficient, but it was all they could do. Afraid to leave Cacofonix alone, the Gauls who still retained their health volunteered to take turns sitting with him; Unhygienix volunteering to go first. The rest of them went back downstairs, where the Venerable Druid decided they should meet in audience.

Shortly after, all those who were still able had gathered in a circle at the center of the hut. It made it easy for those, such as Getafix, Vitalstatistix, and Valuaddetax, who were too busy to attend fully, to hear and comment from where they stood and worked. Leaving the Venerable Druid as the authoritative voice.

"Friends," he said strongly, taking in the villagers' pained, terrified expressions, "I know our situation looks grim but-"

"I thought your protection spell was supposed to prevent this!" Mrs. Geriatrix wailed from her position beside her husband. "Why is Mastix still getting through?!" The anguish in her face was enough to stop the elder druid cold.

"Ma'am, I..." The Venerable Druid shook his head, lowering his eyes. "Mastix has adapted far quicker to my magic than I anticipated. He has had time to dig into my methods over the years, as well as experiment with his own. I don't know what will work and what won't. We're running out of options."

"Than can't Getafix put his Neutralizing spell back up?" another Gaul spoke up fearfully. "It was working before."

Getafix himself answered that question. "Mastix was almost through my spell when the Venerable Druid and Valuaddetax arrived. It would do little to stop him now."

"But there must be something we can do!" Asterix cried out in frustration. He felt like their every turn was blocked by bad news. People were suffering, and they couldn't seem to find any way to stop it. Cacofonix's injuries only added to the general feelings of defeat, and they all knew that was Mastix's fault as well. Getafix had been certain of that. The dark druid must have used some sort of paralyzing spell, much like he had used at the beginning of this whole mess, before causing the bard to fall. "Things are getting worse and worse, and all anyone can come up with is that there is nothing we can do! That is not an option!" Asterix knew his outburst was scaring the others, but at this point, he didn't care. He was scared himself.

The desperation in the warrior's voice caused Getafix to turn. "Asterix, we haven't given up," he spoke firmly.

"But we aren't doing anything! Isn't that just as bad?!" Asterix felt a heavy hand on his shoulder, but he didn't pay it any mind. He knew it was Obelix. The large Gaul was already very worried, and seeing him equally worried was surely only increasing Obelix's nervousness. But Asterix couldn't help it. Things were spinning so quickly out of their control, he wasn't sure how much longer he could stand it.

The Venerable Druid looked down at the short, blond Gaul standing before him, quivering with emotion. Asterix's inner light was pulsating wildly; not that the elder could see it, but he could sense it; beating in time with Asterix's rising voice. The strength was impressive, but also worrying. "Asterix, listen, we will try something new. We will come up with another way."

Asterix struggled to get himself under control; if not for his own sake, for the other villagers' peace of mind. Seeing him distressed would do little to help their depressive moods. But the question still remained. What would they do? What _could_ they do? Toutatis knew how long it would take to come up with a new plan of action. And in the meantime others' lives were at stake. Asterix didn't want to lose anyone. He was _afraid_ to lose anyone. Terrified. And here they were, half the village's population seriously ill. And for what? _Him_. It couldn't possibly get any worse.

"Obelix?... Are you alright?" someone asked suddenly, just as Asterix felt the heavy weight of his friend's hand slip from his shoulders. Turning quickly, Asterix took in his friend's all at once very pale skin. The large Gaul was blinking blearily, stumbling back a bit and holding a shaking hand to his head.

"Oh, Toutatis, no..." Lurching forward, Asterix took hold of Obelix's arm. "Obelix! Obelix, what's wrong?!" A sense of panic was gripping him, as his fear; his one greatest fear, ran through his head like a never ending caravan. Getafix's head snapped up from his current task, and in a moment he was racing to close the distance to grasp Obelix's other arm as the big Gaul went down.

Despite the two's care, Obelix still hit the floor with a ground-rumbling bang. Everyone gathered round in alarm, trying to assist the druids, who were trying to assist the suddenly very ill Gaul. It had happened so fast. Everyone had just expected Obelix to be immune to the illness; full of the Magic Potion as he was. But that theory was dropped in an instant, as the Gauls tried there best to minister to the now unconscious Obelix. The sight was heartbreaking; urging them all to push their skill and abilities to help.

Asterix, however, had backed away from his friend; eyes wide and fighting the urge to yell in panic. His eyes swept from Obelix's prone form, to those of all the other sick men and woman he called his friends. He saw Vitalstatistix, griping his wife's hand in grief, trying to give her just a little more potion to bring down her fever. He saw Mrs. Geriatrix patting her elderly husband's perspiring forehead with a wet cloth, tears of fear evident in her eyes. He knew upstairs Cacofonix lay, bruised, battered, and badly injured. The rest of the Gauls were frightened; the children clinging to their parents in fear of what may happen next. The druids were beginning to appear frantic; even the Venerable Druid's calm, reserved mask was fading. Asterix's eyes turned back to Obelix with pain erupting in his soul. His friend. His best friend...

This was his fault. All of it was. None of this would be happening if Mastix wasn't after that accursed light inside of him. Why was he different? Why was he 'special'? Why couldn't he just be a normal, ordinary man? Why couldn't Mastix just attack him and be done with it?

This was all his fault.

Something inside of Asterix collapsed; his resolve; his will to fight. The lives of his friends were far more valuable in his eyes than his own. There was nothing more they could do; so he would take the only option left. The only option Mastix had left them. Left him.

Making sure that no one saw him, Asterix began to creep backward until he was standing by the door. Placing a hand on the wooden frame, he glanced back sadly, taking in the hut, and all those he loved so much. His eyes settled on Obelix. His heart filled with a brotherly care he knew so well.

"I promised I'd do everything and anything I could to keep you all safe," he whispered softly. "And I will keep that promise. No matter what."

With that, he slipped through the door, unnoticed in the chaos that had descended within the cottage. There was no way to stop this. No way to save the others. No way but one; and Asterix planned to take it. Mastix had to release them. He just _had_ too.

Asterix ran across the rain-soaked village, splashing through the muck and mire; heading for that one small gate in the village's wall that opened into the dark forest beyond.


	27. No Greater Love Than This

The air was as cold as the fear in Asterix's heart. The wind whipped through the forest as though if were a bare wasteland; lashing out at the short Gaul's hair and clothing; blowing it taught against his skin. The dreadful storm of the past was no longer raging, but the hostile atmosphere and dark sky remained; blocking all light as though it were eternal night. No birds sang, despite it being midsummer. In fact, there wasn't a sound to be heard. A general feeling of doom hung over everything; almost suffocating in its animosity.

Asterix felt sick to his stomach. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up; a shiver running up and down his spine, as if every fiber in his body was screaming at him to stop; to head back. That little voice in his mind, the Solas Anam within him perhaps, was bringing up reasons to keep fighting; to head away from the danger. That he could find another way; he didn't have to do this. It was a voice that Asterix was very familiar with. It was the voice that always prompted him to do what was right, no matter the cost. The part of him that guided his actions, and words, and thoughts. It was the part of himself he always listened too...But not this time. This time, Asterix buried that voice deep; buried that part of him that echoed and reechoed that what he was about to do was the wrong action to take. Asterix ignored it.

The lives of his friends were in danger. That was what was important; couldn't the druids see that? One life wasn't worth the lives of many, was it? Especially his life. He had no wife, or children; but many of the other Gauls did. Who would be effected by his death? His mother and father, surely; but they'd get over that. They'd be alright, though he was sure it would take time. But Vitalstatistix could never live without Impedimenta. Never. Nor could Mrs. Geriatrix without her dear husband. And the children all needed their parents. Their whole lives were still in front of them.

No. Asterix decided to ignore that little voice; no matter how much it tugged at him.

After walking for what felt like hours, but was really only a relatively short period of time, Asterix began to feel disoriented. The forest looked so different; the dark curse of Mastix still being upon it. Everything looked the same; black, dead, and cold. It was no longer the bright, lush woodland that he had grown up in. It was full of evil.

Asterix instinctively looked up at the sky, hoping to get his bearings, but then was reminded that the darkness clouded everything, even the night sky. If it even _was_ night. Darkness had presided so long that Asterix no longer knew whether it was evening, dawn, or something in between. And now, to top it all, he was lost. Realizing there was no reason to keep his presence hidden, since it was his goal to be found, Asterix raised his voice, trying to keep the desperate emotion from his voice.

"Mastix!"

There was nothing but the faintest hint of a cold, heartless breeze.

"Mastix! I've come to give myself over to you!" Despite his efforts, he couldn't help the plea that entered his cry. "Please! I'm here, Mastix! Leave them alone!" He flinched with a chill as the wind picked up for a moment, hitting him full in the face, causing him to shut his eyes against the dirt and leaves it blew at him. The trees above him swayed, creaking urgently, as though they might fall at any moment. All at once, the wind stopped; too quickly to be natural.

"Well, well. What have we here?"

Asterix spun around so fast it made his head feel light. There, standing not four feet from him, towered Mastix. The monster who had tortured him, and Getafix, to get the Magic Potion, and then had hurt his friends; the children and their families, to get _him_. The dark, evil man who had thrown Cacofonix down from his hut without a second thought. The man who would kill him without feeling any remorse at all. But, strangely, Asterix didn't feel afraid anymore. His anxiety, now that he was in the dark druid's presence, was replaced with anger and hate. Pointing a finger almost directly in Mastix's face, the short Gaul said what he had wanted to say for longer than he could remember anymore.

"Release my friends!"

Mastix smirked, not bothered in the least. He reached out and batted the warrior's hand away. The moment the druid's skin touched his own, Asterix felt a chill run through him. More like a wave of icy dread. But Asterix once again pushed down his anxiety, letting his anger fuel his words.

"I've done what you've asked of me!" he shouted in frustration. "I've given myself over to you; what more do you want?"

The dark smile widened on Mastix's gaunt face. "You know what I want."

"Than you can have it; just let them go!" Asterix again fought that little voice, trying to silence it. He spread his arms wide, as though inviting Mastix to take his best shot.

But Mastix shook his head. "Not here. Too close to the village. I don't want anyone playing the hero and coming to your aid." He chuckled darkly, seeming to find that thought quite humorous. He stopped suddenly, his mood changing so fast it was frightening. Shooting out a hand, he snatched Asterix's wrist tightly, hissing angrily when the little Gaul instinctively tried to pull away. "We are going deeper into the forest!" He smiled again, almost tauntingly. "Then I shall release your pathetic, little village."

Asterix looked fearfully into the druid's dark eyes. There was nothing in those colorless orbs he could trust. But what could he do? Mastix was far stronger than Asterix would have expected from one so old. His long-nailed fingers were nearly crushing the life out of his wrist, twisting it painfully when Asterix hesitated to follow. The man was quite a bit taller than him as well; far taller than Mastix had appeared from the village's parapets, and only slightly smaller than the Venerable Druid. Even though Asterix knew he'd never be able to outmatch Mastix without the aid of the Magic Potion, he still held his ground. "How do I know you'll free them? How do I know I can trust you?"

Mastix chuckled gleefully. "You don't. But I can tell you this; I will have to release them, for I will need all my power to focus on you." He giggled, like a child, but far more sinister, giving the Gaul's arm another painful tug.

This time, Asterix allowed himself to be moved. There was no use fighting, even if he could get away. As much as it made him sick, the warrior knew that he had no other option. If Mastix was actually speaking truth, than his friends would be freed the moment Mastix focused fully on him. If he was lying, then Mastix would still have what he had come for, and would leave. Wouldn't he? Asterix didn't know, and that little voice within him was still crying out; urging him to go back, even though it was obviously too late.

Mastix led him through the dark shroud of trees and fog; the cloud-like shadows gathering into a dark mist. All at once, he found himself in a clearing; one that, at one time, may have been a place Asterix had played in as a little boy. Now it was far to disrupted to tell. The grass, once green and lush, was dead and crisp beneath his feet. The trees above him were bare, all their leaves having died and crumbled to dust at their roots. The air was drastically different here; dry and exceptionally hot; nearly suffocating, with a hint of decaying plants.

Mastix pulled him to the clearing's center, giving one last jerk before letting go; causing Asterix to come to a stumbling halt. Laughing, Mastix began to walk around the short Gaul, eyeing him scornfully. "So this is what I've worked so hard to get my hands on. One little man, who is weak and useless. Warrior? Ha! You can't even defend yourself!"

Asterix wrapped his arms about himself, fighting the urge to strike back. He wouldn't give Mastix that satisfaction. The dark druid was baiting him; trying to get him to lash out in anger. Well, Asterix decided, he would just ignore him. But Mastix wasn't so easy to ignore.

"And those poor, deluded villagers. They put their faith in you? Fools! Can't they see what I can so clearly? You're nothing. You're a hindrance. Why, if it weren't for you, none of this would have happened. They'd all be safe; going about their insignificant lives, instead of cowering in pain and fear." He smiled a toothy grin. "And all because of you."

"Alright! Alright!" Asterix cried angrily, slamming his eyes shut against the painful accusations. "Just take it!" Nothing could be more hurtful then those words. The same words that had been tumbling around in his mind for the past week. They cut him to the heart, making him almost anxious to get it all over with. Yes, it was his fault; yes, he was to blame. He'd believe anything. Just take it. Take it.

Mastix chuckled, satisfied that he had managed to reach the injured soul of the man before him. "Oh, I will." He came back to Asterix's front, coming face to face with his prisoner. His _victim_. He reached out a hand, hovering it just over Asterix's chest, but not touching him.

Asterix felt a dizzying tug, but nothing more. "What...what are you doing?"

Mastix smiled, stepping away and lowering his hand. "Making sure I had not been mistaken."

"Mistaken?!" Asterix yelled, his voice sounding muffled within the humid clearing. "You mean all this time, after hurting my friends; after all you did to them, you were never certain whether I was a Solas Anam or not?!"

"Not one hundred percent."

Asterix clenched his hands at his sides, hate radiating in his light, brown eyes. "And are you _now_?!"

Backing up several steps, Mastix rubbed his hands together in anticipation. "Yes." He took a deep breath, closing his eyes in concentration. A great wind once more swept through the forest, roaring through the trees like a mighty beast. It faded into the distance, in the direction they had come, before everything fell silent again. Mastix reopened his eyes, still smirking. "Your friends are released. But only because I cannot get what I want when burdened with them." He fixed his dark eyes on Asterix. "You are ready to die? No pleas? No questions? Don't you want to know my reasons behind all this?"

Asterix held his gaze steadily. "Men like you don't need a reason to harm others! Your heart is black and cruel! You never had an ounce of good in you! You take pleasure in what you've done, and I believe that someday you'll pay for it; even if it is not at my hands! You're no man; you're a monster!"

Mastix bristled ever so slightly. "Are you finished?"

The Gaul remained silent, refusing to give any more.

"Good," the evil druid sneered. "Now will you stand still, or do I need to bind you to a tree?" The belittling tone was dripping with hostility, causing Asterix to shiver in spite of himself.

"I will stand still."

"Very well." Mastix raised his hands, a pale green light beginning to gather around him. His eyes never once leaving Asterix's, he smiled evilly. "Farewell, Little Warrior."

* * *

"What...what happened?"

Impedimenta tried to disentangle herself from her sobbing husband's arms, but he refused to let go. She didn't understand. Vitalstatistix was never like this; especially in front of the other villagers. She hadn't seen behavior in him like this since Caesar had defeated those in the battle of Alesia. But even then it had not been quite like this. He was shaking, violently so; sobs of either pain or joy escaping him in gasps as he held her close, as though he would never release her. Slowly, Impedimenta slid her right arm free, moving it to his back as an overwhelming need to comfort him filled her. This wasn't right. Something must have happened. Why couldn't she remember?

All around them, similar scenes were playing out in every corner of the their hut. Wives being reunited with husbands, husbands being reunited with their wives, and children being reunited with their parents. It was total chaos...but a wonderful chaos no one would have traded for all the world. Geriatrix groggily waved a fist as he attempted to rise to a sitting position, mind still confused as to what was going on; his wife cooing over him with tears of relief and joy. And through all the noise and shouts of surprise and general happiness, the druids stood completely, and utterly, amazed.

Only moments before, they had been struggling to keep these men and women alive; and failing, if truth be told. When all at once the color had returned to their cheeks, and their eyes had fluttered open. The fever had left them, all symptoms having diminished to nothing but a dry cough. The feeling of illness and doom had lifted, leaving a most welcome and spectacular glow all around them. It was the most beautiful thing any of them had ever scene.

"How...How did this happen?" Valuaddetax asked in awe, smiling at the love-filled reunions. People who, only moments before, he had feared were dying.

Getafix shrugged, at a loss for words. He glanced up at his mentor, expecting him to have some sort of explanation; but the Venerable Druid seemed to be just as perplexed as they were. But what did it matter? They were free! The horrors of the past several hours had faded away, like smoke on the wind. But that couldn't be right. Mastix wouldn't just give up without a fight. Not after all the trouble he had gone through. Unless his powers, strained after days of use, had suddenly given out. Or perhaps the Romans had caught his attention...No. Those soldiers were cowering in their forts; no distraction would be coming from them. So what was it? Why had Mastix stopped? Even the outside world of the village was returning to normal; the warm summer sun bursting out in all of its nearly forgotten glory. But only over the village. In the forest, darkness still reigned.

Obelix, who seemed to be recovering a little more slowly than some of the other Gauls, carefully rose to a sitting position. His head felt heavy; muddled, but that was quickly diminishing. The Magic Potion within him was righting the wrong in his body at a fairly quick rate, returning that tanish-pink color to his skin and the cheerful sparkle to his. He didn't really remember what had happened, outside of suddenly feeling dizzy and sick. After that, there was nothing but darkness; an empty void in his memory, faded and hazed. It was rather frightening; feeling one's senses slip away, and Obelix found it terribly unsettling. But it was alright now. He was awake.

Dogmatix was the first to greet his beloved master, jumping up into the large Gaul's arms and washing his nose and chin in excited licks. Obelix chuckled, relieved to see that his pet had not fallen to some evil while he was...asleep? Or passed out? Either way, Dogmatix was safe. Everyone seemed to be happy and joyful, a feeling that none of them had felt in their hearts for what seemed like an eternity. Everyone was free.

But something was missing.

Something wasn't quite right. It was as if there was a piece missing out of pleasant picture of the village family; making it incomplete. Obelix's eyes roved over each and every member, feeling his anxiety return. All was not as well as it seemed. He saw Vitalstatistix, Impedimenta, Fulliautomatix and his family; the Geriatrixs and Unhygienix's family. Unhygienix himself, Obelix remembered, was upstairs with Cacofonix. Everyone else seemed present. The Chieftain's shield bearers, Soporifix, Atlantix, Picanmix, Baltix, Photogenix*; they were all there. Then who was missing? Obelix's still groggy mind refused to supply the answer, even though it was practically on the tip of his tough. Someone who was _supposed_ to be there. Who was _always_ there...

"Asterix." It clicked in place all at once. _Asterix_ was supposed to be there. _Asterix_ was always there. And at the moment, he was not. Feeling a sense of panicked dread, Obelix struggled his his feet and began breathing heavily when his recovering body hinted that he was taking things a little too quickly, even for him. A warm, gently hand rested on his arm and the large Gaul turned sharply, hoping it was his blond friend. He was met by the concerned eyes of Getafix, who was closely flanked by the other two druids. All three of them were trying to convince him to stay still until he had regained whatever coordination he had lost.

"Mastix's spell may take a few more moments to wear off," Valuaddetax explained with a smile, "Due to your size, the spell must have been very strong to take you under. That is why it has effected you more deeply." His smile faded as the large Gaul shook his head vigorously in a half-dazed fashion.

"No," Obelix breathed, leaning against Getafix for support, but not too much; he didn't want the crush his druid. "No, I have to get up!" His voice still sounded a bit slow, as the residual effects of the illness began to leave him. "I've got to go find him..."

"Who lad?" Valuaddetax asked, trying to hand the agitated man a small vile of potion to help clear his head. Obelix undoubtedly needed it; the way he was rambling on. But the Gaul was being incredibly uncooperative, trying to move around them and head unsteadily for the door; without much success. Falling back into a sitting position with a frustrated grunt, Obelix snapped his bleary vision urgently to Getafix's troubled face.

"Asterix!" the menhir deliveryman demanded. "Where is _Asterix_?!"

All activity in the room ceased. Obelix had yelled loudly enough to catch everyone's attention, his deep voice cutting off all other conversation. A sense of confusion filled the room like a visible aura. Glancing around, the villagers and the druids took inventory of all who stood within the hut. They found it lacking in one, short, blond Gaul. Asterix was nowhere in sight.

"Why, he was right here a short time ago," Valuaddetax muttered, peering about, hoping that maybe they had overlooked the warrior. "Perhaps he went off somewhere to be alone again; like he did yesterday?"

"No." Of this Getafix was completely certain; that Asterix would never leave Obelix's side in the state he had been in. Not under normal circumstances. "Asterix wouldn't go off with so many in danger of illness, specifically Obelix. The only reason he would do so would be if he had come up with a way to help." As the words escaped his mouth, Getafix felt a sickening wave of dread bloom within him, even though he wasn't exactly certain why.

"But what could he do?" Vitalstatistix asked, remembering how they had just determined that nothing _could_ be done. He held his wife gently, patting her hand comfortingly; though it was more him that needed the comfort; needing to continually reassure himself that she was alright. "Without a magic stronger than Mastix's own, and without our help, what could he possibly do?"

A silence hung over the interior of the hut as the question sat, untouched.

The eldest druid found this all to be very disturbing. He was frustrated that he had become distracted; so much so that he had lost sight of the one person they couldn't afford out of their sights. Especially now that Mastix had cut off his attack. That might mean that their foe was about to launch an attack of another kind. After all, the dark druid wasn't a fool. If one method didn't work, he would switch to a new tactic. And Toutatis knew what that might be. They needed to find Asterix; Mastix's next attempt might be on him, like before, when he and Valuaddetax had arrived. But, just like the rest of them, the Venerable Druid was uncertain as to where the warrior had gone off. His magical connection to the blond Gaul had been lost during the commotion of the last half hour, but reinitiating it would be no hard task; and it would be far quicker than physically searching the village. Sliding his eyes shut, the elder strove to reconnect the link between them.

It was a simple link; of the one way type. Asterix wasn't even aware of it. It only gave the druid a vague sense of Asterix's state and whereabouts. Like a shadow indicates the direction of the sun and its brightness. But, as he searched the village, mentally, one section at a time, the Venerable Druid's brow furrowed in confusion. No matter how thorough he was, he could not find Asterix. This bewildered the elder; causing him to wonder if he might be losing power due to all the stress and chaos. But he could sense all the others when he focused on them. He could feel their worry and fear. It was not his magic that was at fault; Asterix simply wasn't there. Then, if that was the case, where else could he be?

All at once, the Venerable Druid stiffened, eyes snapping wide in horror as a terrifying thought came to his mind. Something absolutely unthinkable. Switching his focus to sweep outside the village, he discovered exactly what he feared he would. A small light in the darkness, pulsating wildly. Asterix. Asterix was outside the village.

"Oh no..." the Venerable Druid whispered, his emotions breaking through that wall he so carefully guarded. His voice was unsteady; soft, though it might as well have been a scream for all the terror that lay behind it. Raising his eyes to the confused villagers, his expression full of shock and disbelief. This shouldn't be happening.

"He's gone out to Mastix!"

That was why the villagers were recovering. That was why the illness had lifted. Mastix had gotten what he had come for. He had gotten his hands on the one thing; the one person they couldn't afford him to.

"He has Asterix!"

* * *

Mastix placed himself four yards in front of Asterix, seeming to gauge the distance with great care; his eyes never once leaving his subject. Asterix felt as though the evil man's very gaze would be enough to rip him apart. He wasn't sure just how one went about taking the Solas Anam from someone, but the cruel, pleasured look that glinted in the dark druid's eyes told him that it wouldn't be pleasant. That sickening green glow that marked Mastix's magic, grew in intensity, mixing in with the dark, black fog. It swirled around them slowly as the druid raised his gnarled hands, pointing them at the vacant sky above them. A mischievous; almost hungry look crept into Mastix's face as he opened his mouth and spoke, in a deep, monotone voice, a chant that had not been uttered for thirty-five years. Not since that day, long ago, within the forest of the Carnutes.

_"Bhfianaise istigh de chroí agus anam,_

_Óir i gcomparáid thar,_

_Deontas dom mo mhaith, mo sproic,_

_An chumhacht anois a dhéanamh a roinnt...*"_

Asterix felt a shudder of fear run through him as the words continued, dark and ominous. He didn't understand them; not in the actual sense of comprehending the meaning of the words; but, somehow, they felt clear and decipherable in his mind. Like a whisper; as though the words were meant for him, and had waited through the years to be heard by him specifically. And yet it wasn't a pleasant feeling. As though something dark and dangerous were slowly prying the door of his mind and soul open, readying itself for the fatal strike. Asterix suddenly felt a great urge to run; flee. As if that would do any good. Mastix would be upon him in a minute. And, besides, he couldn't turn back now. He had come to save his friends, and that was what he was going to do. The worst Mastix could do was kill him, and that was worth the price of the village and its inhabitants any day.

And Mastix's spell probably _would_ kill him. He remembered Getafix's words; about the last Solas Anam the dark man had gotten a hold of. Prolix, a druid, protected by magic, had not been able to survive the ordeal; there was no reason to believe that he, a short village warrior, with no knowledge of magic whatsoever, would walk away from this alive. And that was alright. If it saved the others, what did it matter? Mastix would be satisfied and would leave with his Solas Anam. Asterix didn't want it anyway; he didn't want to be special. But being what he was was worth it, if he could trade it for the lives of his friends.

_"Tóg uaidh agus a thabhairt dom,_

_An chumhacht sin a lorg mé...*"_

The black fog suddenly began to glow with its own eerie light; a gathering shade of electric blue. The wind had picked up, swirling the thick vapors of darkness about them at a faster rate. Asterix tried to lift an arm to shield his eyes against the onslaught of dirt, leaves, and bright flashes of light, but he found that he couldn't move. He felt his panic rise slightly, memories of Mastix's paralyzing spell flooding back to him. But this was not the painful, crushing force of that spell. This didn't hurt, at least, in the sense of the word. It felt more as if his body were no longer under his control; cut off from his mind so that it was no longer his own. In fact, the only part of himself he could still feel at all was his heart, pounding in rhythm with the pulsating blue around him. He couldn't speak, or blink, or sit; and yet he certainly wasn't keeping himself upright. It was like he had gone totally numb; the only thing holding him up being the invisible force that was firmly fixed upon him. To keep him still.

_"Mar sin, beidh mé do gach duine a fheiceáil,_

_Fear gan lag a thuilleadh!"*_

* * *

Getafix ran faster than he had ever run in his life. No speed seemed efficient to make it feel as if he were getting anywhere half as quickly as he wanted. But fear drove him. Fear and dread. A sense of cold terror had settled in his heart, making him want to curl in around it in a pitiful heap. Images came unbidden to his mind, both of the past and, unfortunately, the very possible future. He tried to push them away, but they only persisted, fueling his mad dash through the forest.

Beside him, and running just as quickly, if not more so, was the Venerable Druid. His old, but powerful legs keeping him slightly ahead of his past student. In his mind he berated his foolishness. They had gone about this all wrong. They had made too many mistakes. One of which had been waiting to tell Asterix more about the Solas Anam within him. He had failed to explain to the little warrior just how much power Mastix would gain, if ever he were to extract the Soul Light from his body. Asterix knew that would kill him, as Getafix had described in the tale of Prolix, but Asterix did not know the danger the Solas Anam would become in the hands of a man like Mastix, who was already incredibly powerful. Nor, in his desperation, did Asterix seem to realize that Mastix would not turn and depart from the village after he had received what he desired. Power feeds power; and evil feeds evil. Mastix would use his new found strength to harm others, the very thing Asterix was willing to give his life to avoid. The Venerable Druid's heart felt heavy with guilt. He should have explained this all to Asterix; way back when he'd first realized what the little man was.

When the elder had realized and expressed that Asterix had given himself over to Mastix, a hush like death had fallen over everyone present in Vitalstatistix's hut. There had been a few moments of stunned silence before chaos broke out among them; each voicing what they thought they needed to do. Some wanted to know if a spell could save him, while still others wanted to charge out and bring Asterix back, no matter the cost. But that had been out of the question. Mastix would have destroyed them in a moment. The villagers had no powers or strength, other than those common to man, that would be sufficient to protect them even for a second against Mastix's rage. Not to mention that more than half of them were still recovering from Mastix's illness spell. They wouldn't have had a chance.

The Gauls had become increasingly distressed over the situation; though no one more so than Obelix. The large Gaul had at first frozen in shock over the revelation of what his friend had done. Then, all at once, Obelix had stumbled to his feet, the very image of panic in its purest form. Mixed with terror and protective rage, the menhir deliveryman had tried to make a beeline for the door, fully planning on marching out and beating Mastix to a pulp if he had harmed a single hair on Asterix's head. But Obelix didn't make it that far. He didn't even make it to the door. Dizziness, weakness, and other residual effects of his short, but serious illness had effected him too greatly, and he stumbled, forcing him to cling to the wall for support. Valuaddetax had been by his side immediately.

"Obelix!" he had cried, "Don't push yourself! The spell may have been lifted, but that doesn't make you well! You have to wait; otherwise you could hurt yourself!"

Obelix had been past caring by that point. "But Asterix needs me!" he had shouted weakly, hating the fact that his normally invincible body was choosing this particular time to give out on him. He didn't want to worry anyone, but he had not eaten nearly as much as he had needed to the last few days. Which the big Gaul knew was effecting him. The power of the Magic Potion that forever ran through his veins took up an enormous amount of energy, which was why he needed to eat so much; to replace the energy his body consumed so very quickly. But at that moment, that didn't matter. Asterix's life was at stake. "We have to help him!"

"And we shall!" the Venerable Druid had declared, his voice holding far more emotion than it had up to that point. "Getafix and I will go out and do what we can! Valuaddetax, stay here and look after them!" With that he had turned and dashed out of the hut before anyone could protest, Getafix running at his heels.

Now they had made it to the inner forest, trees rushing past as they continued to run. Thankfully, the elder druid's bond to Asterix was leading them, directing their way through the dark, cold woods. It was saving them an immense amount of time. Getafix remembered how quickly Mastix had been able to produce the power of the Extracting Spell, way back all those years ago. There had been no time to react; no time to stop what had happened. The hopeless terror still plagued him sometimes; memories of wanting with all his heart to save Prolix, and yet not being able to do a thing about it. Like a scar it had faded over the years, but never quite healed. And now, like a knife piercing him, that old wound was reopening in Getafix's one, overwhelming fear. That the same scene would play out now, with Asterix as key player. He prayed they wouldn't be too late.

"He's just ahead!" the Venerable Druid panted, trying to continue despite the aching cramp that was threatening to grow in his side. They both increased their efforts to get there as soon as humanly possible, trying all the while to keep their fears from consuming them.

* * *

The last resounding word of Mastix's chant echoed all around the clearing; sinister and final. There was a sound like the rush of the wind through the tops of the trees, only lower; all about them. At once, the glow seemed to absorb into Mastix's body; shining within his frame in a way that hurt Asterix's eyes. The drawing effect of the absorption momentarily weakened whatever hold Mastix's power had on the blond warrior, allowing him one, final breath of free will and movement. Mastix, still smirking cruelly, slowly redirected his arms from above his head to pointing directly at Asterix's unprotected front.

Asterix knew this was it. This had been inevitable since Mastix had first arrived. But it had to be, if saving the villagers was even remotely possible. And that was worth giving himself over to death a hundred times over. He was scared; of course he was! Who wouldn't be? Death is a frightful thing, and for perhaps the first time in his life, Asterix was standing face to face with it. Oh, he had had instances of danger. Toutatis knew he'd gotten injured enough times as village warrior. But there was one change this time that made all the difference.

He wasn't going to fight it.

He was doing this of his own free will. No one was holding him here. If Mastix were to leave him completely free, without spell or binding, he would have still stayed. It was what he had resolved to do. And, even though that small voice in him was practically screaming now, Asterix ignored it, focusing his all on his last few moments on the Earth. And as the tips of Mastix's fingers began to glow with that eerie, iridescent light, Asterix resigned himself to his fate. Closing his eyes, he waited for the impact.

"ASTERIX!"

The blond Gaul's eyes snapped open. He turned his head to the left, fear flashing into his expression as he spotted two white-clad figures standing at the edge of the clearing. "Getafix?!" It wasn't a cry for help; Asterix was horrified that his friend was now out and in danger too. That wasn't what was supposed to happen! Getafix and the others were supposed to be in the village where they'd be safe! Where'd they'd b-

A sudden pain, more terrible than anything the little Gaul had ever experienced, hit him in the chest with the force of a menhir. In dug into his body like the driving thrust of a thousand spears; like arrows that reached far further than just his mortal body. This pierced him right to his soul. It burned and tore and ripped its way to the deepest part of him, snatching at something that resided there; something he needed, but hadn't known how much he had needed it until he could feel it being forcibly taken from him.

Asterix screamed.

Getafix watched in horror as the scene he had most dreaded played out in front of him. Asterix had turned at the sound of his voice, a look of panic in those light, brown eyes. For a moment, their gaze had locked. Getafix had seen that dim and faded glint in his friend's eyes; that sense of determination; that stone wall of resolve that Asterix always seemed to erect when facing something far larger than himself. But there was something else in Asterix's face. Something beyond the panic, and beyond the fear. A sort of calm; a steady, love-filled glance that was done so with a sort of sad understanding. That was when Getafix realized, Asterix was saying goodbye. He wasn't going to fight.

And then like some reenactment of the druid's most feared nightmares; bringing back the horror's of the worst night of his life, the blue light left Mastix's hands like a lightening bolt; zig-zagging across the clearing in all directions, but following a very clear path. The intense brightness forced both Getafix and the Venerable Druid to flinch back, shielding their eyes with cries of pain. But their shouts were nothing compared to the scream of agony that broke out only a fraction of a second later.

The bolt had hit Asterix straight in the chest, while the short, blond Gaul had been distracted by the new arrivals. He hadn't seen it coming; leaving him unprepared and unbraced against the terrible force. Not that it would have done much good if he had. Asterix's eyes slammed shut as the power stabbed into him, leaving no wound or bruise, but doing far more damage than any other weapon on the Earth ever could. His body became rigid, back arched in terrible agony that he couldn't escape, as the bridge of energy between him and Mastix went from that electric blue to that familiar, sickly green. The sight was more than Getafix could bare.

"NO!" Lunging forward, Getafix took off toward his friend with panic fueling him to his core. The Venerable Druid followed suit, as they both made their way to the center of the clearing where the energy hissed and flashed with a terrible violence.

"Stop! Mastix!" The Venerable Druid stopped just short of Mastix's side, feeling an immense wave of Déjà vu come over him. Those were the same words he had used before; many years before. They had done little good then and they were doing very little good now. Mastix's face wore a smiled of pure bliss; a cruel bliss that evidenced that he was finally receiving what he had craved for so long. The Solas Anam, that beautiful light that glowed within Asterix, was being drained and hungrily absorbed by the dark druid. And the Venerable Druid did not know what to do to stop it.

Getafix ran to his friend's side, surprised even in his panic that he was able to do so. When Mastix had attacked and killed Prolix, the energy swirling about them had prevented anyone from being able to reach the elderly druid and his attacker. But now, though a similar amount of energy stormed the clearing, Getafix found he could reach Asterix without any trouble. But that wasn't important right now. At the moment they were racing the clock; to find a way to save Asterix before he ended up like Prolix had. Dead.

Without thinking, the moment Getafix reached his friend, he lurched forward to take hold of Asterix's shoulders, planning to try and pull the Gaul from the grip of power he was trapped in. It was a foolish thing to do; Getafix knew that, but the pure desperation he felt within him was making him act recklessly. The moment his hands made contact, intense pain shot through him as his hands were horribly scorched. With a cry of agony, Getafix stumbled back, hissing in pain as he surveyed his badly burned fingers. But he pushed all thought of the injury aside, thinking only of their quickly approaching end to the small window of chance that existed to save Asterix's life.

"Múinteoir!*" he yelled in panic, looking toward the Venerable Druid in desperation. If anyone could do anything it was the elder. His magic far surpassed Getafix's own. There had to be a chance. There had to be. "Múinteoir, please!"

The Venerable Druid startled at the use of that title. It was the druidic word for teacher, a title that was used by children, new to the order, in the Carnutes long ago. The title was rarely used now; Getafix hadn't uttered it since he had first started his apprenticeship under the Venerable Druid, at a very young age. To hear it now, after all these years, showed just how frantic Getafix truly was. It caught the elder's attention like a flag, filling him with a similar sense of urgency. But things weren't looking good. It filled him with sorrow, remembering how painful it had been for him to lose Prolix. The two of them had been very close, and then, due to Mastix's mistake, he was suddenly taken from him. And now Getafix was about to be plunged into a world of similar agony.

To lose Asterix would hurt him terribly; the Venerable Druid knew. But there was nothing he could do. He couldn't use any spells unless Mastix wasn't magically connected to anyone. Not the village; not Asterix; not _anyone_. But, as of the moment, Asterix was more connected to Mastix than anyone had ever been. To use a spell on Mastix now, would probably kill Asterix. And that couldn't happen. But it _was_ happening...The bond the Venerable Druid had focused on Asterix was palpitating like mad, but not in the same manner as it had before. This was a weakening, thrashing sort of flicker; one that meant Asterix was being drained of that which kept his body and soul alive.

So what could they do?

Asterix had never felt anything more painful in all his life. This made all of Mastix's other attacks seem like nothing more than a nudge. This burned and tore and crushed; all at once. He couldn't breath. He felt something being ripped away from him; torn from his very soul. He felt a growing weakness within him; cold and empty, and yet full of pain, like the spread of agonizing flame. But, much like the Paralyzing spell had left him immobile, so did this. He wanted so badly to collapse, but Mastix's power held him up, without giving him an ounce of slack. He was completely helpless; at the mercy of the great evil draining him. But that was what he had come to do, wasn't it? And now it was done, or nearly so. He could feel his body starting to lose consciousness. The end had to be soon. It was sad really; he wasn't all that old. He still had had a whole life in front of him. He may have married; though, to whom he had no idea. He would have had more adventures; maybe even lived to see the end of Caesar's reign over Gaul. It wasn't supposed to end like this. But Asterix was willing to give up any future he _might_ have had, if it meant the others _would_ have a future. That was what a warrior was supposed to do. Well, he had done it...He was willing to die for them...because they were his people...his friends...his family...

Mastix could feel the pure, powerful energy flowing into him from his victim. It filled him; completed him. After years of craving that sweet, sweet gift; ever since he had held it from Prolix, he now felt it running a course through every fiber of his body. Through every vein and muscle and bone. It hummed in his ears, and thrummed in his dark soul. It was wonderful. The power was staggering; surprisingly contained in one so small and insignificant. Ah, but Mastix was no longer even thinking of Asterix at this point. Let the warrior die; what did one life matter if it got him what he wanted. He had killed once, and it hadn't been so bad. He'd kill again, and he wouldn't have to answer to anyone. He'd be too powerful. No one would be able to stop him.

He could feel the energy drain slowing as he reached the end of Asterix's supply of Soul Light. It wouldn't be long now. Then he could get back at them all. Those stupid villagers who had kept him so long from his goal; those foolish druids, Getafix and the Venerable Druid especially. Oh how he would enjoy making them pay. He'd enjoy sending them to death, after hurting them as much as possible. This power could do it easily, and the spell wasn't faltering like it had all those years ago with Prolix. It wasn't shaking out of his control. The Solas Anam was his.

Or, at least, that is what he thought. For at that moment, Asterix was completely surrendering his life; the greatest act of selfless love that exists in this world, or any other. An act of immeasurable courage, of kindness, and of a pure heart. With every last ounce of Solas Anam; every last ounce of _Asterix_ , the little Gaul was using what was truly his.

He used his Inner Light.

Suddenly, the clearing fairly exploded in golden light, as if the sun itself had landed in the forest. But this came from no sun; it came from one little man, standing rigid and in pain, with no hope of surviving. It came from a soul willing to fade out of existence, but not without one final glow; one final chance to stop the evil in the world that contrasted so strongly with its own good. The force and intensity caused Getafix and the Venerable Druid to cringe; shielding their eyes against the pure power of the blast.

Mastix had been expecting it. After all, something similar had happened in Getafix's hut when the dark druid had first met the little, blond warrior. But that flash of inner light had been weaker; less controlled. This was far more powerful, as though every last bit of strength was driving the force behind it. It chased away the black fog; eating it away at an incredible speed. But then, like a great beacon, the shafts of light narrowed into one, directed beam. It collided with the green lightening; sparks of gold flying to all corners of the clearing, though nothing caught fire, thankfully. It wasn't that kind of spark.

The dark druid frowned as he fought against the sudden surge of power that was all at once opposing his own. It was strong; trying to dislodge his own crackling magic. But this wasn't right. The little bit of inner light within Asterix shouldn't have been this much of a threat. The golden light was pushing; pushing and causing Mastix's own strength to waver, then flicker. And then, with a final burst of power, Asterix's light broke the chain of lightening between them. Mastix was sent flying backward with a howl of surprise, falling to the ground, hard; where he then lay perfectly still. The draining link was broken; shattered like a mirror. Weaving patterns of blue, green, and gold light went off, flickering out like the flames of candles; diminishing until they no longer were visible.

Asterix, released from the hold of the Extracting Spell, fell to the ground in a limp heap.

With a cry of concern, Getafix lurched forward to catch him; gently lowering his friend to the warm, damp grass. His panicked eyes searching Asterix's slack expression. The Venerable Druid quickly came to kneel beside them. Getafix was frantically checking the little Gaul's pulse, finding the smallest of all possible heartbeats. Slow, unsteady, and frighteningly weak. But Asterix was alive. Getafix had been almost completely convinced that Asterix would be dead. Prolix had died instantly. But if there was one thing Getafix knew about the Gauls, was that they were a stubborn people; courageous and amazingly resilient; even without the use of his Magic Potion.

Getafix cradled Asterix like a beloved child. The little Gaul's skin felt terribly chilled, and he was pale, almost gray; as though all the life force within him was missing. But the rise and fall, however slight, of Asterix's chest gave the village druid a small bit of hope. Looking to the Venerable Druid with misty eyes, whether from relief or fear, Getafix gave a shuddering sigh. "He's still breathing." It was a shivering sentence; his voice cracked and faint. The emotion was deep and dangerously close to defeat.

For a moment, the Venerable Druid could not tear his gaze from his past student's face. Such sorrow and pain, a feeling he remembered well; mixed with a bruised and battered sense of hope that maybe, just maybe, Asterix would survive. Stretching out a hand over the warrior's body, the elder closed his eyes, trying to take in just how badly Asterix had been damaged. What he found wasn't encouraging. While Asterix had not received any physical injuries, other than a few bumps and scrapes; his soul was in a far more dangerous condition. The bright, pulsating light of before was now diminished to a low, flickering flame. One that was growing fainter by the moment.

The Venerable Druid opened his eyes, meeting Getafix's worried ones. "He's dying." It was the most painful thing he had ever had to say, in all his many years alive. "If we don't find some way to reverse what has been done, he will be dead before morning." He lay a hand gently on Asterix's chest, trying to will strength into the injured body, just as he had done with Cacofonix. But this was something that he could not replace with simple magic. "His Soul Light is almost completely gone."

"It is MINE!"

Both druids turned sharply, facing a now very wrathful Mastix, who had managed to drag himself back to his unsteady feet. The dark druid seemed different; sickly. His skin was pale, but with a hint of green, and dark circles lined beneath each eye. His frame seemed far more gnarled than before. It didn't make sense, until the thought came to them that, perhaps, the man they had been seeing all this time had not truly been the Mastix that now existed. Just as he had disguised himself as the woman, Petunia, Mastix had hidden his true appearance. It had all been an illusion. The healthy body was replaced with one aged and ill; one that could only come from years of dabbling in hatred and the spells of dark magic.

"The Solas Anam is MINE!" he yelled again, fiercely; stepping forward in a menacing manner. He raised his arms as though to strike the final blow; eyes wild, and fixed on the limp warrior in Getafix's arms.

Getafix clung to Asterix protectively, while the Venerable Druid rose slowly and placed himself firmly between his two past students. His voice, try as he might, clearly rang with sorrow and worry. "That gift was not given to you; it was taken. And a gift taken is no gift at all."

Mastix sneered, stepping even closer. "Wise words from an old fool! The only gifts in life are those we snatch from others for ourselves. Trample the weak, conquer the defiant, and destroy those who oppose! The world is cruel like that; only those who can take survive! You forced that life on me!" He pointed a gnarled finger at the Venerable Druid. "You banished me into lands never touched by light! You turned me away!"

"You killed one of our own!" the elder yelled, furious, as well as frustrated. "How could I let you continue in your studies?! Once darkness finds its way to a heart, that darkness only grows!" He wished with all his might that, somehow, Mastix's dark soul could be saved. But darkness only begot darkness. Mastix wanted only revenge. The elder could see it in his eyes; his posture. Hatred. Pure, unrepentive hatred. And nothing; not love, not truth, not hope, could change it. But, for the sake of the friendship they had once shared, the Venerable Druid felt it was worth a try.

"Mastix," he said more quietly, letting the plea enter his voice, "What you are doing is wrong; and you know it. Things don't have to be this way. You already have a gift of your own; you don't need anyone else's. We could finish your training in magic; not as a druid, but as a healer, or something similar. You don't have to be this way; live like this. I'm giving you another chance. Please...Please, accept it." His heart went out to one of the two men he had always counted as his sons. Mastix and Getafix. One so dark that the night glowed in comparison, and the other so full of light that that darkness was very nearly defeated. "You don't even have the Solas Anam. You can't fight us, so join us. Take this chance; don't let it go."

For a moment, Mastix looked as though he were giving the offer some serious thought. It was true. Whatever power Asterix's golden light had hit him with had created the same phenomenon that had occurred long ago in the Carnutes. The Extraction Spell had destabilized, back surging, but with nowhere to go. As he had been defeated and thrown back, the Solas Anam he had gained had dispersed; fleeing his body and leaving the dark druid with nothing. It was maddening. After years of craving, and searching, and preying upon the lives of others, it had all come down to this. Nothing. He had gained nothing; done nothing. Mastix's only consolation was that Asterix hadn't gotten any of it back. And that, Solas Anam or no, he was still a deadly powerful druid. Asterix was still alive. As long as an ounce of that Inner Light still remained, Mastix wanted it. He'd steal, cheat, and murder to get his hands on it. That was how it had been for years; only now it was far stronger, and far worse, than ever before.

"Keep your stupid chances!" Mastix snarled, slipping as much venom into the sentence as he could. "I am far above you! You will all bow before me! This world cannot escape my wrath and power! I will make them pay!" His eyes stared at the threesome; the dying warrior and the two frightened druids. "STARTING WITH YOU!"

Mastix raised his hands suddenly, shooting forth another bolt of lightening, red this time; aimed straight for Getafix, who still knelt, holding his friend. The force of the blow alone would have probably killed both his targets. Getafix was far to stunned and grieved to act quickly. He and Asterix would have died right then and there, if not for one thing. With surprising speed, the Venerable Druid raised his own hands; puting up a reflective shield around them all, hoping to deflect the fatal strike.

It did far more than that.

The zagging design of electric energy ricocheted off the shimmering surface of the shield, mirroring in back the way it had come. Right at Mastix. With a shriek, the bolt stabbed straight into the dark druid's chest; sending tiny shocks of crimson lightening crawling across his skin. He screeched again, far louder now; echoing all around the forest clearing, back arched and face contorted in agony. Then, all at once, everything stopped. Mastix fell to the ground with a thump, sightless eyes still fixed in their general direction. Unmoving. Unresponsive. Harmless.

Mastix, the dark druid, was dead. Killed by his own, hate-filled power.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *These are all real names of various villagers that have been mentioned throughout the Asterix franchise. :) Thought I'd name a few, instead of always relying on the characters we know more fully.
> 
> *"Inner Light of heart and soul,
> 
> Gold beyond compare,
> 
> Grant to me my want, my goal,
> 
> This power now do share..."
> 
> *"Take from him and give to me,
> 
> That power that I seek..."
> 
> *"So I will be for all to see,
> 
> A man no longer weak!"
> 
> *Múinteoir = Irish word for Teacher. I think I mentioned this before, but my brother is a language translator (or he wants to be; he's 18 right now). He moderately speaks over 20 languages that he's taught himself. When I asked him what language he thought the druids in Asterix might speak that would be easy for me to write and translate, he said Irish. So there it is. Mastix's chant is also in a form of Irish. In truth, though, it is not known what language the real druids spoke.
> 
> *I had to think long and hard about what to do with Mastix. I don't usually kill my villains, as I didn't kill Commander Spacious in my other story "Safe and Sound". But, though Spacious was quite an evil character, Mastix, I felt, was far worse. I originally had it so that he would just be defeated and then brought back to the Carnutes for trial...but that just didn't set right with me. After all, what would the druids do with him? Banish him again? So I decided Mastix needed to die. But I couldn't see any of the characters killing Mastix, no matter how evil the dark druid was. So, that only left one option: that Mastix would destroy himself. :)
> 
> Ok, just a few fun facts:
> 
> \- The name (or, word rather) Mastix actually means something. That's right; I didn't just make it up. Way back at the beginning of this story I searched and searched for the perfect name, since most names in the Asterix comics reflect the person's character. :) Here's what Mastix means: attacker of a (specified) person or thing.
> 
> \- The name of this chapter actually comes from a Bible Verse:
> 
> "There is no greater love than this: that a person would lay down his life for the sake of his friends." - John 15:13
> 
> So, there we go; another chapter. Two or three more to go. :) Yeah, I know; sad right? Well, don't worry. If you want me to continue writing stories for the Asterix universe, I'd be more than happy to. I've already got some ideas brewing in my mind...If people are at all interested. :)


	28. Race Against Time

The Venerable Druid stood frozen with shock. For a moment, he did not fully register the fact that Mastix, once one of his own students, was laying dead, only several feet in front of him. For a moment he just looked at the limp heap of a man he had known since the fellow had been nothing more than a child. Mastix, who had learned so quickly, and done so well; only to become a murderer; filled with evil and hate. The elder felt his heart break with sorrow. Where had he gone wrong? How could he have let something like this happen? He should have taken care of it long ago...But truth be told, he had had no idea how. He had never quite known how to deal with Mastix, even when he was a little boy. Mastix had always been strong-willed, competitive, and cunning. Traits that, had they been properly addressed, might have added something positive to the world. But now, it was too late. Mastix was dead.

Where had he gone wrong?

"Múinteoir, please..."

Getafix's soft, frightened voice pulled the Venerable Druid from his stupor. With a jolt, he came to himself, remembering that, while he may have lost one student, he still had another. And right now, Getafix needed his help. Lowering the reflection shield that still buzzed about them, the elder quickly knelt beside his friend and Asterix.

Getafix appeared close to frantic at this point. He looked up into his mentor's face, eyes wide and wild. "H-he's getting weaker!" His grip on Asterix's body was firm, but careful; his hands shaking visibly. "What do we do?! We can't just let him die! Not after all he's done for us!"

The Venerable Druid looked down on the still warrior. He was so pale, and weak. That invisible glow that had once seemed to radiate from within him was now so dull, the elder could barely sense it anymore. Mastix might not have succeeded in gaining Asterix's Soul Light, but he had succeeded in taking it from the one who needed it most. The Gaul's breathing was terribly shallow; the rise and fall of his chest slow and shaky. He looked so frail, as though any moment might be his last. "Getafix..." the Venerable Druid whispered gently, reaching out a hand to try and comfort his student. "I...I don't think there's anything we can do..."

"No!" Getafix clung to Asterix all the more, his voice strong and determined. "We have to at least try! I may have something back at my hut; we have to try!" The look of panic in Getafix's expression was painful to see. "Please!"

"Getafix...his Soul Light is all but gone. He cannot survive without it...He is dying...There is nothing we can do."

"How can you say that?!" Getafix burst uncharacteristically in anger. He rarely ever yelled, and normally wouldn't have even dreamed of doing so at the most revered druid alive; but the stress, and fear, and pain of the last week had finally broken through. Whatever feeble wall of emotional strength he had had, was gone; broken in a wave of true, honest terror. "He probably saved all our lives, including yours! And you aren't going to even _try_ to save him?!"

The Venerable Druid was silent a moment, his eyes holding nothing but pain and grief. Watching Getafix, kneeling beside Asterix's still form, was like a mirror image of the torturous death of his friend, Prolix, in his own haunted nightmares. He had not been able to do anything then; how would now be any different? But the little warrior was still alive, something that already outlasted the disastrous result of Mastix's last Extraction attempt. His heart was beating; he was breathing...Could it be that there was a glimmer of hope? But how? The Soul Light had been taken, and, as far as anyone knew, there was no way to replace it. There was no known spell, nor magic, that could replace something so precious as a man's inner light.

Closing his eyes in resignation, the elder responded weakly. "We can bring him back to the village. We can try our best. And we can make him comfortable. But I want you to understand, Getafix. His chances are very low. Almost nonexistent."

The younger druid nodded, lowering his eyes back to Asterix. Getafix had felt ashamed of his outburst the moment it had passed his lips. Of course the Venerable Druid was going to try. Of course he cared. It was just that the elder was more of a realist, while Getafix had always proven himself to be very much an optimist. It was hard not to hope for the best in every situation, especially when you lived among such heart-filled folk. And if your past was full of darkness. Now that darkness was gone, but a shadow still remained; like a scar. Asterix may not survive, but that didn't make trying useless.

"Let's take him back to the village." With that, Getafix rose unsteadily to his feet. Asterix didn't weigh much, but the village druid found that he was feeling very shaky, leaving him far weaker than he had expected himself to be and making the little warrior much harder to manage. But, pushing that aside, he headed quickly, but carefully, back toward the Gaulish village. The Venerable Druid trailed solemnly behind him...but not before stooping to take hold of something dark lying in the grass.

* * *

Books were thrown left and right as Getafix virtually tore his cottage apart. Possessions once considered precious and important were tossed aside carelessly; a much greater thing now being at risk. Asterix was worth all of these objects, and far more; and Getafix was _not_ going to let him die. The village druid's hands stung relentlessly, still scorched and untreated as he rushed against what little time they had left. Beside him, the Venerable Druid assisted him, digging through one shelf after another. Together the two men searched methodically through every tome and parchment that Getafix had ever owned. Some were new, only a few weeks old, while others were covered with aging dust. Those of the books which had not been ruined by flooding, were skimmed through; every spell glanced at, and every rhyme murmured. But as of yet, nothing had been found to save Asterix's life, and hearts were slowly sinking.

They had lit a fire in the damp hearth, trying to gain a little heat to help keep Asterix warm. It blazed away; the only thing in the village that gave off anything full of light and life. All else was dark and dingy. Fear had a way of robbing the world of joy and happiness, as it was doing now. Asterix's condition was lying very heavily on the hearts of the villagers, as well as the druids.

The Gauls stood outside the door, not wanting to get in the way of the frantic search. They knew they'd never be able to tell one spell from the next; it was best to stay clear. Their nerves were teetering on the edge of panic themselves, and seeing just how frightened Getafix was did little to ease their fear. But that still form, barely breathing, held gently in Obelix's arms, was almost more than any of them could bare.

When Getafix and the Venerable Druid had returned to the village, the Gauls, now fully recovered, had rushed out to meet them, hearts filled with worry. When their eyes had rested on Asterix, many of the women had gasped, grasping out for their husbands in horror. As one, they had all turned several shades paler. At first glance, Asterix had looked as though he were...dead. In fact, they had thought he was. It wasn't until Getafix had carefully passed the warrior into Obelix's arms, and they had heard their friend give a ragged breath, that they had known for certain that he was not.

Obelix had gone almost white. His legs had felt weak and a tremor had taken hold of him; soft and hardly noticeable. Except in his hands. When he had first caught sight of his best friend, he had froze; unable to truly believe what he thought he was seeing. It was like all the world had just come crashing down around him; leaving it empty and gray. Images had flashed in his mind of all the two had ever done together; and a feeling of great loss had nearly overcome him. But Getafix had made straight for him, knowing that his fear and pain would be the greatest out of all of them. Looking directly into his eyes, Getafix had offered Asterix to him with a barely audible sentence.

"He's still alive."

The wave of relief that had run through Obelix was almost enough to make him ill again. Gently; more so than he had ever been in his life, the large Gaul had taken Asterix's limp body in his arms, cradling him like one might a small child. For when it came to their difference in size, Asterix was truly only as big as a little boy, compared to Obelix's considerable girth and height. The dead weight of his friend had made Obelix's throat tighten painfully, and he had almost let out a sob. Asterix had been so pale, and motionless. Each breath had sounded labored, as though there was really no reason why he should even still be managing that. His skin had felt oddly chilled, though not icy. It was simply as though no life remained within the frail body. And yet it did. Asterix was holding on...but only just barely.

And now Obelix was one of the few who were _within_ Getafix's hut. He was sitting on the muddied floor; most of the water having drained away after Mastix's spell had lifted. Beside him, Valuaddetax was trying to watch Asterix's pulse as the warrior lay in Obelix's careful hold. His condition hadn't improved; and it was slowly declining. Very slowly; which only drew out the pain for them all.

Holding Asterix wrist, monitoring the Gaul's faltering heartbeats, Valuaddetax gave a grief-stricken sigh, lifting his eyes to meet Obelix's worried ones. "It's growing weaker," he reported hesitantly. It was hard, to be in charge of telling everyone Asterix's condition, and yet knowing that doing so would only bring their spirits down even further. To literally sit there and describe the warrior's slow death, moment by moment. It was the worst thing that the druid felt he had ever had to do. Probably the worst he would ever have to do ever again.

Obelix stiffened at his words, holding his friend just a tad bit more tightly. He was watching the ever-growing pile of read books and papers; the mound now far larger than those not yet searched. His fear was growing steadily, in uneven bursts and jumps. Getafix had always managed to fix things in the past. Whenever neither Asterix nor he could right something wrong, Getafix always could. _Always_. The Gauls had complete trust in the village druid's abilities. But now, it was beginning to look like even Getafix couldn't fix it this time.

Obelix noticed as Asterix's breathing became even shallower. He wanted to ask if everything was going to be alright. He wanted to ask if this was all just some sort of nightmare from eating to much boar during a feast. But, honestly, Obelix could barely remember the joys and happiness that came with a feast. Nor the feeling of security. Of chasing boar in the forest with his closest friend in all the world. The friend who, at that moment, was dying in his arms. It filled Obelix with a growing coldness within him. "Getafix...?"

"Oh, for Toutatis sake!"

The loud, frustrated shout caused everyone to flinch back. Getafix threw the book in his hand, which went sailing through the air before hitting the wall with slam. Pages rattled out of it as it slumped to the mud covered floor. There was an uncomfortable, and pained silence, in which the only sound was Getafix's hard breathing. His hands were clenched at his sides, as he himself felt hot and trapped in a terrible dream of a world, where all his hope was flickering away. Just like Asterix's life.

"There's nothing in any of my records!" he trembled, already feeling the anger pass. He turned slowly with sad eyes to look into the scared expressions of his friends. "I...I don't know how...I don't know how to save him..." Those seven words hurt him physically to say, but there was nothing left _to_ say. Mastix had managed to take the one thing that could never be replaced. And not even Getafix, with all his usual optimism, could find the least bit of hope to fight this kind of darkness.

"Getafix."

The village druid turned again to face his mentor. The Venerable Druid was standing in front of him, a large, dark, bound book held in his hands. He held it out; offering it to his past student.

Getafix shook his head, defeat evident even in that small motion. "There is nothing in any of my books that can...that can fix this."

But his teacher pressed the volume into his hands, his eyes watching Getafix's face. "This is not one of your books."

The moment the object was in his grasp, Getafix felt the pain in his burned hands increase. Not tortuously so; but very unpleasant all the same. As if someone had slapped salt into the wounds. A sort of energy traveled up his arms, spreading all through him. But it wasn't the good kind. This made him all at once very nervous, and he had to fight the impulse to drop the book to the floor. "What...what is this?"

"It belonged to Mastix. It is the Book of Olc."

The urge to drop the tome became stronger, but Getafix hung onto it. The instrument of Mastix's evil. Or, perhaps, Mastix was an instrument of its own evil. Getafix could literally feel the darkness from within it; the spells of hurt and pain and hate. Everything that had filled Mastix over the years; for it was this book that had filled him with it. Getafix held it at arms length, as though trying to keep it as far away from him as possible. It was because of this book that they had all suffered. It was because of this book that Asterix was dying. "Where did you find it?" was all the village druid could manage.

The Venerable Druid nodded down at the volume. "It was lying in the grass of the clearing. I was going to bring it back to the Carnutes so that it could be destroyed; and never fall into the wrong hands again...But, perhaps, there may be something within it that can save your friend."

Getafix blinked a moment, before rushing over to his desk and laying the book on its wooden surface. He started madly flipping through the pages, glancing over every spell and chant. Most were horrible concoctions; magic to hurt rather than heal. In fact, he was more than halfway through the volume, and still nothing of any usefulness was available. Getafix looked through it once; twice; and just to be sure, thrice. And still, the book contained nothing but evil. With a sigh of despair, the village druid sank into the seat of a nearby stool; the Book of Olc still held in his trembling hands.

"There is nothing," he whispered, eyes locked upon it. "All it contains is death and darkness."

A long silence followed. The other two druids had hung there heads, knowing that there was nothing left to be done. They had tried their best. But that had not been enough. There are times when defeat is questionable, and there are times when it is not. This was one of those times. They had lost. Mastix, dead though he may be, had taken one of their own down with him. That may not have ever been the dark druid's plan, but it had been everybody else's fear. One that was coming true; and there was not a single thing they could do about it.

The villagers, standing outside the door, looked back and forth between the three druids, as though awaiting the next course of action. For them, they still believed that there was a battle worth fighting. As long as Asterix was breathing, there had to be hope. There had to be. Good always prevailed. Wasn't that how it was supposed to be? Evil loses, the pure of heart wins? That was how it had always been. They had never lost anyone. Never. Not like this.

Obelix was the only one who understood. If things hadn't been so dire, he might have laughed at that though. Him? Understanding? But he did understand. For the first time in his life, the truth dawned on him before it had on anyone else. But instead of the blind panic that he might have expected, Obelix felt himself filled with a numbing calm. Looking down into Asterix's slack face, he fought back the tears that threatened to fall, wanting to remain strong like Asterix would have told him to. But it wasn't easy.

A thought came to the large Gaul and he looked up with just a small glimmer of hope in his voice. "What about if we made some Magic Potion and gave it to Asterix? Would...would that help?"

All eyes turned to Getafix, but he only remained seated, eyes fixed with grief on the book in his hands. Realizing that the village druid was trapped in thought at the moment, Valuaddetax responded instead.

"From what Getafix has told me, the Magic Potion is a strength enhancer. It takes whatever strength your body has and multiplies it many times over. But Asterix's body has always gained strength through his Soul Light. Though he may have a small amount of his inner light within him now, to enhance it with potion would be very dangerous. There isn't enough. It would more than likely drain him, rather than fill him. It...It would probably kill him instantly."

"But...it heals..." Vitalstatistix trailed off miserably.

The Venerable Druid shook his head slowly. "Even the best of things can sometimes be hurtful. In his condition, Asterix would not be able to handle it."

Everyone jumped as Getafix stood stiffly to his feet. His frustration and pain was evident, in his face as well as in the way he held the Book of Olc angrily in front of him. Everyone watched tensely as the village druid stalked forward, raised the book with one hand, and prepared to through it into the flames of the fireplace. There was no reason to stop him; the tome was evil and needed to be destroyed. What caused their hearts to falter was in the way Getafix moved to do it. A wrathful, hateful, fevered movement; torn in so many ways between rage and sorrow. No one; not the druids, nor the villagers, had ever seen Getafix so upset.

As his hand swung the weight of the book above his head, Getafix could think of nothing other than to toss the evil in his grasp into the fire to be burned. He hated it; almost more than Mastix could ever have goaded him into hating anything, even the dark druid himself. This object had no soul or will, nor life; and yet it was capable of demolishing those of another. It _had_ to be destroyed. Mustering all his anger and frustration into the motion, Getafix moved to throw the book into the licking flames of yellow and red.

But then he froze.

In his raised hand, the book's leather surface had caught the fire's light. He hadn't noticed before, but its cover was engraved with Celtic designs; old, and terribly worn. But they _were_ there. And they looked very, _very_ familiar. But for the life of him, Getafix couldn't remember why. Lowering the book back to rest in front of him, he ran his scorched fingers over the faded symbols. The beautiful, interlooping bars and circles in the patterns were not in and of themselves all that unusual. Most books owned by the druids displayed these designs, but there was something that nagged at the back of Getafix's memory. Turning the volume to illuminate the book's side in the firelight, Getafix's breath nearly caught in his throat. In bold letters, otherwise hidden in darkness, it read:

_An Leabhar olc, Imleabhar II*_

Getafix felt his mind lurch back up to full speed, as pieces of a very old puzzle began to fall into place. "It's the second volume..." he whispered quietly to himself. A hand on his shoulder made him jump, and he turned, wide-eyed, to find his mentor gazing at him worriedly.

"Getafix?"

"It's the second volume," Getafix repeated, louder this time and with growing excitement. "The Book of Olc is the second volume in a series of two!"

The Gauls all looked at him blankly, blinking in their failure to understand the significance of his words. Even Valuaddetax seemed at a loss. But the Venerable Druid's eyes widened, lighting up with comprehension.

"What does that mean, exactly?" Fulliautomatix spoke up hesitantly.

The Venerable Druid was the one to answer. "It was common among the ancient druids to create series of spell books, one representing the spells they had discovered, and another that contained their solutions."

Obelix looked up, sorrow still lingering in his expression. "...Solutions?..."

"The antidotes!" Getafix exclaimed excitedly. "The opposite of those spells!"

"So if we can find the first volume-" Valuaddetax began, slowly.

"Than there's a chance we can save Asterix!" Obelix cried, hope filling him once more. There was a chance! Oh, thank Toutatis, there was a chance!

A mighty cheer went up from the group, filling the hut with more relief and joy than it had contained in days. But the mood was once again nearly shattered with the next question.

"But where is it?"

Getafix frowned, holding a hand to his head. "I've seen it. I'm certain of it," he murmured with a wince. His hands were still hurting him terribly, burned quite badly from Mastix's spell. "It...it must have been long ago...I can almost see it in my mind. It was so very long ago..." Taking the book and opening it once more, Getafix let his eyes drift over the horrible words. Of all pages to turn to, he found it was the one of the Extraction Spell. The terrible words lay right in front of him; the very words that had been used to hurt his friend. A man almost like his own son. But, now that he was searching for a memory, the actual words faded in his eyes, and he focused more on the shapes and curves of the writing. Of the design of the very words themselves.

The letters were extremely hard to decipher. Only years and years of practice made it possible for Getafix to understand them at all. They were blotched and poorly preserved. It was like some ink-happy dope had suddenly decided to dance his pen across the page in a completely random manner, only getting in an intelligible symbol every two or three sentences. It was like trying to read the doodlings of a -

For the second time, Getafix froze. A memory, nearly thirty-five years old, flashed in his mind's eye. Of him standing in a room, deep within the earth, working late at night. Trying to practice and create a concoction to make people strong. A concoction that would one day become the Magic Potion. But, back then, he had been looking at someone else's work. Writing so messy and chaotic, it had nearly been unreadable.

"It's in the Carnutes!"

Every eye turned to Getafix once more. "What do you mean?" Vitalstatistix asked nervously.

"Exactly what I said!" Getafix was gaining energy and excitement very rapidly. "The first volume of this series is in the Carnutes! I remember! I was looking at it; I held it in my hands the night before I left to come to this village! The night Mastix destroyed the Abode of the Druids!"

The Venerable Druid took hold of his shoulders. "Are you certain?"

"I'd stake my life on it!" Getafix turned to gaze at Asterix. "And his life certainly does. It's his only chance."

"But that trip took days for Cacofonix!" Impedimenta spoke up. She had not left Vitalstatistix's side. "We don't have time!"

"No," Getafix said with a smile, "Not normally. But we do have speed on our side now." He turned to Obelix. "Before, we needed stealth. This time, we need to get there as fast as possible. Obelix, thanks to the Magic Potion's permanent effects, could get us there in only four hours."

The other two druids looked shocked. True, they had seen Obelix's impressive strength, but could a man truly travel so far in such a short amount of time?

Obelix nodded, standing to his feet carefully, so as to not jostle Asterix. "I can do it," he said confidently. He'd make sure he could. If Asterix's life rested on this one thing, Obelix would brave it all; _go_ anywhere; _do_ anything, if it meant they might be able to save him.

The Venerable Druid volunteered to go with Getafix and Obelix, feeling very much responsible for their safety. They might need his authority once they reached the Carnutes. Valuaddetax opted to stay, saying that the villagers, though mostly recovered, would still need watching over for a while. Not to mention that Cacofonix still needed some very careful attention.

One of the Gauls, a farmer, donated one of his ox carts, minus the ox. Blankets were given by everyone to cushion the inside of the cart, before Asterix was carefully lain inside. Then, positioning themselves on either side of the blond warrior, Getafix and the Venerable Druid climbed in as well. Obelix took hold of the wagon's hitch, and with a solemn wave, started out of the village at an incredible speed. Trees whipped by on both sides as they raced through the forest, at speeds that could be matched by nothing else but lightening itself. The trip would take a very short time at this rate.

Getafix kept a hand resting on Asterix's pulse, wanting to be certain to notice should the Gaul's health plummet unexpectedly along the way. Despite their speed, Obelix managed to keep the cart fairly steady, which helped.

Hope was in sight again. But it was far...and very small.

* * *

Obelix traveled the distance in record-breaking time. The estimated four hours was beaten by a full half hour. Coming to a quick, but mindful halt just outside the border of the Forest of the Carnutes, the large Gaul brought the wagon to a stop. Fastened to a tree, far larger than it really needed to be, was an enormous, wooden sign reading:

_Forest of the Carnutes. Non-Druids Keep Out._

Obelix was familiar with this place. Some time ago, he and Asterix had come with Getafix, escorting their friend to the border. It had been some special meeting of the Druids, but he and Asterix had not been permitted in. It was their law; that no one other than a fellow druid should enter the Carnutes. And it was one that Obelix had always followed. As had everyone else from their village, including Getafix.

But this time, Getafix was about to do something unthinkable.

Lifting Asterix gently in his arms, Getafix dismounted from the cart's interior. Shifting his friend's light form, and seeming to steel himself as he determinedly walked toward the invisible line that marked the forbidden zone. "Come, Obelix."

"GETAFIX!"

The stunned, almost frightened shout came from behind them. Obelix turned, finding that it was the Venerable Druid. Getafix, on the other hand, stopped, but didn't turn.

"Getafix, they cannot enter into our Forest!" The elder's voice seemed to hold a hint of desperation. "They can stay here; we'll find the book and bring it out to-"

"We haven't time."

Getafix's voice sounded unsteady, but determined. Obelix got the impression that Getafix was breaking one of the Druids' most important laws.

"I'm going to need Obelix's help. And who knows how much longer Asterix has. He could die before we could reach him out here." Getafix finally turned, locking a pair of sad, frightened eyes with his mentor. "I'll take full responsibility for my actions." With that, he turned back toward the forest, and entered through. Obelix hesitated a moment, looking between mentor and student, before moving to follow Getafix. He trusted his druid. And Asterix needed his help.

The Venerable Druid stood stunned, trying to come to terms with the fact of what Getafix had just done. He couldn't. This would not sit well with the council. By Belonos, it didn't sit well with him! But Asterix's life was at stake...

They'd have to deal with Getafix's actions later.

* * *

Getafix pushed against the door of the chamber. He had led Obelix and the Venerable Druid down into the catacombs of the Druidic Fortress, making his way to the room he had once claimed as his own. Luckily, it was unoccupied, and looked very nearly as it had thirty-five years ago. It seemed that many of the rooms on this particular level, though they had been repaired, were mostly abandoned. Not that anyone could be blamed for that. It only served as a distasteful memory to most of the druids. There were plenty of other levels in the Fortress; there was no immediate need to live in the ones further down.

The chamber had one bed, just like it had back when Getafix had lived in it. Rushing forward into the room, Getafix carefully settled Asterix on the soft sheets of the cot. The little warrior gave the slightest hint of a gasp, causing his breathing to hitch painfully. Getafix held his own breath, fearing the worst, but a moment later Asterix's breathing evened out. It still sounded terribly labored, but he was still alive. And that was what mattered. His complexion was still rather gray, and he was beginning to look drawn; as though he were wasting away. Gently taking Asterix's cold wrist, Getafix checked his pulse. His heart jumped in anxiety as he realized just how weak it had become.

"We don't have much time," the village druid whispered softly to himself. He lay a hand on Asterix's shoulder. "I'll be right back. I promise." Turning to the two standing behind him in the doorway, he addressed his past mentor. "Stay here with him. Obelix and I will go and find the book." He started to head out the door, but the Venerable Druid stopped him by lightly grabbing his arm.

"Why does he have to go with you? Shouldn't Obelix stay here with his friend?"

Getafix shook his arm free at the same time as he shook his head. "No, he can't."

"Why not?"

Getafix's face grew in determination as he brushed past his elder. "Because the book is probably buried under six feet of soil."

* * *

Getafix and Obelix raced down the tunnels of the Druidic Fortress. Obelix had long since lost his bearings, relying wholly on Getafix's thirty-five year old memories of the many twists and turns. Getafix himself doubted his recollections, as they ran into a few dead ends, reversing course once or twice before getting back on the right track.

The deeper they went, the dustier and less kept the place became. As though the repair crew had started to slack in their work; or perhaps they hadn't made it that far down yet. It was still passable, but it was getting darker, and Getafix was forced to grab a torch from the wall side as they continued. The limited light wasn't helping; nor was the constant pressure of time that hunted them. Asterix couldn't hold out much longer. Time was the most precious thing they had, and with every wasted moment it was becoming more and more scarce.

Rounding a corner, Getafix slid to a halt beside the inlet of an ancient-looking door. Or what had once been a door. All that was left was the cracked, and slightly twisted wooden frame. Pounds and pounds of dirt had settled heavily upon it over the years, weighing down above it.

"This is it!" Getafix exclaimed, holding his torch higher to get a better look. It wasn't an encouraging sight. The interior of the room was filled with dirt; completely packed from ceiling to doorway. It loomed black and taunting in the flickering light. "We're going to have to dig, but we don't have much time. Obelix, do you think you can-"

"I can." The big Gaul stepped forward and buried his stone-worn hands into the moist soil. Taking a deep breath, he started digging at an incredible speed, passing the dirt away as he shoveled out handful after enormous handful. As he did so, he talked, finding that his nerves could not take the uneasy silence. "Why is it caved in like this?" For that was indeed what it looked like.

Getafix wrung his hands in front of himself, feeling useless in the situation. But there was no room for him _and_ Obelix to dig. "It collapsed the night that Mastix killed Prolix. The Venerable Druid and I were in there when...when Mastix attacked with storms and great quakes of the earth. We barely got out alive."

Obelix nodded silently, before asking the next important question. "The book is in here then?"

"Yes, I am certain. It will look very much like the Book of Olc. I will help you identify it when you dig it out."

Getafix ended up identifying many books. The laboratory had contained quite an assortment of tomes and parchments. Many, unfortunately, having rotted to a nasty degree. The book they were searching for, for all they knew, might have dissolved by now to nothing more than moldy dust. But neither Getafix nor Obelix were willing to accept that for even a moment.

All at once Obelix cried out, "Here's what appears to be a cauldron!" He was much further within the room now, and his voice echoed in the enclosed space. With a toss, the cauldron clanged out into the tunnel. Getafix wouldn't have given it a second thought, had it not resounded with the bang of something inside it. Rushing forward, Getafix leaned into the gaping black hole of the cauldron's opening. He groped for a moment, before his hands closed around something that felt very much like a bound, leather book. Pulling it out and into the light, Getafix discovered that it was indeed a book. But not just any book.

"We've found it, Obelix! Oh, thank Toutatis; we've found it!"

Obelix scrambled out of the hole he had dug, rushing to Getafix's side. The druid held it up for him to see. It was very much like its evil counterpart. Disturbingly so. Its bound leather was slightly lighter in color, more of a warm brown than a black. Crisscrossing Celtic designs adorned the cover, and on the side, when held just so in the torch light, words engraved upon it read:

_An Leabhar na Chéasta, Imleabhar I_

It was in perfect condition. No dirt seemed to have touched it, the book having been kept safe within the cauldron. How it had fallen within it, or how it had managed to last unharmed for all those years, would remain a great mystery. But that didn't matter right now.

"Come, Obelix!" Getafix cried, already running off down the tunnel. "We have to get this back to Asterix before it's too late!"

Obelix grabbed the torch from the mound of dirt he had created, taking off after Getafix with his heart brimming with hope. Maybe, just maybe, things were going to be alright.

* * *

The Venerable Druid sat on the edge of Asterix's cot, hand resting gently on the Gaul's heaving chest. Only seconds after Getafix and Obelix had left, the short man's health had suddenly plummeted. Gasping for breath, and seeming to struggle with a deep, torturing pain, Asterix had plunged into a very dangerous condition. The gray color of his skin had vanished, making way for a terrible white. But, despite the agony he was obviously in, Asterix barely moved. He had no energy to move. The most amount of reaction was his fast breathing, gasps, and, on occasion, a small, involuntary twitch of pain. It broke the Venerable Druid's heart to see. But that was nothing compared to what he was feeling from the young Gaul through his magical link between them.

The Soul Light was flickering. No, not flickering; petering out. It was getting weaker and weaker by the second; with each desperate breath Asterix gave it blinked out and then barely managed in relighting itself. Terrible shivers had taken hold of the man, adding to the possibility that at any moment, the inner light would fade, and never return. The Venerable Druid was willing as much strength into the Gaul as he could, but it didn't seem to be doing any good.

Asterix was dying.

Oh, how the elder had always feared this. The loss of another innocent soul. Just like Prolix. For years, the Venerable Druid had striven to ensure himself that such an event would never happen again. He had promised himself that he would never let Mastix hurt another human being. He had gone to great lengths to erase that which had happened in the past. Something he had tried so very hard to forget. The pain; the sorrow; the sleepless nights filled with guilt and dread. But, now, it wasn't he who would be facing these horrors. It was Getafix.

Getafix would be crushed. Losing Asterix would destroy him. The Venerable Druid understood now. He could see it in Getafix's actions; his willingness to even go against his own peoples' sacred laws, all just to save his friend. Why? Why?

Because Asterix was Getafix's Prolix.

That deep bond of friendship that the Venerable Druid had once shared with his deceased companion, was the equivalent of Getafix's fatherly love for Asterix. For the whole Gaulish village. It was the reason that Getafix had never returned to the Carnutes. Why he had decided to choose between his own people and the people of a different nation. A nation that had been conquered, all but one small village on the edge of the sea. Getafix wasn't just _living_ with them. Getafix was _one_ of them. He cared for them; knew them. They were his family; his friends. They were bonded; perhaps in an ever stronger way than the druids in the Carnutes had ever been.

Asterix was Getafix's Prolix.

The Venerable Druid understood. It might have taken him thirty-five years; but he finally understood. And now he realized just how devastating this short, blond Gaul's death would be. Not just to Getafix. Not just to Obelix. And not even just to the village. This was a friendship that held together far more than that. Asterix affected so many people. And without him even realizing, Asterix had managed to affect the elder as well. The Solas Anam within this little warrior had reached out and stirred something that the Venerable Druid hadn't even known he was still carrying. Fear and a closed mind. A mind that had shut out everything else, because it had been afraid to do what Getafix had done. He had been afraid to reach out to others, for fear of being hurt again.

Well, now none of that mattered. Nothing mattered. Not if Asterix died. Because once he did, everything would fall apart again for the old druid. And this time, Getafix would fall too. And the Venerable Druid found that thought absolutely unbearable.

"Hang on, Asterix. Just hang on."

* * *

When Getafix and Obelix rushed into the bedchamber, they were dirty, sweaty, and very much out of breath. Even Obelix, whose superhuman strength was supposed to be endless, seemed to be finding the stressful situation very taxing. They burst into the room, the book clutched tightly in Getafix's hands.

Getafix ran to the bedside, taking in Asterix's declining condition. The Venerable Druid had his hand laid on the Gaul's chest, something that Getafix took as a very bad sign.

The elder looked up at him worriedly. "He's almost gone."

Nodding hastily, Getafix perched himself on the edge of the bed, right next to Asterix. Opening the book, he began to leaf through page after page, his movements full of stressed panic. The book was just like he remembered it; blotched and very hard to read. But he could make out far more than he had been able to thirty-five years ago. And these spells were, without a doubt, good. No evil lurked within its pages. Getafix searched, eyes scanning over each section with a fevered pace. Cures, antidotes, and remedies flashed before him as he raced against time and death.

"Here it is!" He nearly burst into tears with relief. But his joy was short lived, for just a fraction after he spoke, his mentor cried out.

"He's going!"

"Asterix!"

Obelix's horror-ridden cry was all Getafix needed. Without further ado, he launched into the spell.

_Heart that's torn,_

_And taken far,_

_Return to him,_

_Heal this scar!_

_Repair the hurt,_

_That has been done,_

_Take the pieces,_

_Make them one!*_

There was a sudden golden flash that filled the room. It was so bright that the they were forced to cover their eyes against its intensity. A sound like a mighty gale blew about them, ruffling their hair and beards in its throws. Then all at once, it all seemed to flow into Asterix, causing him to glow with a golden flare. As if the light were truly coming from him. With a startlingly abrupt halt, everything became still, and the room returned to normal.

But Asterix was no longer breathing.

Getafix stared down at the still form in disbelief. It should have worked. It had to have worked! There was no reason that it shouldn't have worked! Asterix couldn't be dead; he couldn't be. With a shaking hand, Getafix reached out and gently wrapped his fingers around Asterix's wrist. This time he was met with nothing. No heartbeat. Not even a weak one. Raising pain-filled eyes to meet Obelix's fearing ones, Getafix's voice was barely above a whisper.

"We...We were too late."

"No..." Obelix slowly sank to the floor.

His stunned expression was almost too much for Getafix to bare. Obelix and Asterix had been closer than brothers. They had been each other's shadows since birth. They may have not had much in common; not in size, or shape, or character; but it was the difference that had made them fit together like two pieces of a puzzle. It had been what completed them; made them whole. And now, only half remained. A torn, tattered, beaten half. How would Obelix go on without Asterix? How, for that matter, would Getafix? Asterix had been the closest thing Getafix had ever had to a son. They had shared a certain understanding; a friendship that had developed so far beyond teacher and pupil. But now Asterix was gone.

And it was all his fault, because Getafix hadn't been able to make it in time.

With a grimace of terrible emotional agony, Getafix slowly slipped off the bed onto the floor. He didn't even fight the tears that came. He didn't care the his mentor was standing right there to witness it. All that mattered; all that echoed in his mind, wave after relentless wave, was that Asterix was dead. Shifting his burned hand along the top of the sheet, Getafix clasped Asterix's hand in his own.

Obelix had gotten over his shock by this point, having launched into uncontrollable tears. Silent and full of pain, each breath seemed to wrack his whole body; grief practically tearing his heart in two. "Asterix...Asterix, you promised...Please, you promised..." The large Gauls words faded into muffled sobs.

Getafix still sat on the floor, hand griping Asterix's like a lifeline, when he felt a hand gently land on his shoulder. He didn't look up. He knew who it was.

"Getafix," the Venerable Druid whispered carefully, his own voice wavering with emotion. "There is nothing we can do. I'm...I'm sorry...For everything." When he got no response, he tried again. "We should go. It will only harm you both to stay here."

Getafix shook his head like a stubborn child, squeezing Asterix's hand just a little tighter. He wasn't about to leave his friend; alive or no.

"Please, Getafix," the elder continued urgently. He was worried about both his past student and the large Gaul. Such sorrow he had never seen. His own pain from Prolix's death could never even come close to this. "Think of Obelix; we need to get him out of-"

But Getafix was no longer listening. With a jump, the village druid had snapped his head up, eyes wide; completely focused on the hand that he held in his. A hand that, when he had tightened his grip, had responded in kind.

Asterix had squeezed back.

Getafix rose to a kneel, taking Asterix's hand in both of his. "Asterix...?"

There was a moment where nothing happened, as the two druids and Obelix watched in breathless silence. But then, ever so slowly, Asterix took an audible breath, his chest rising as his still lungs were jolted back into use. He gave a little groan, before his brown eyes fluttering open. They swept around the room for a moment in confusion, before settling on Getafix's face. Asterix's expression lit up, and he smiled faintly before speaking, ever so weakly.

"Y-you...You druids are crazy."

Before the little warrior even knew what was happening, he found himself held in the embrace of his two closest friends. It was the most emotion he had ever seen out of either of them, and, though he remembered very little of what had happened, Asterix knew enough to realize that it must have been very bad. That it must have frightened his friends terribly. Hurt them. But now, everything was alright. Everything was going to be alright. Finally.

Getafix laughed joyfully, holding Asterix up in bed at arms length. Asterix's color was returning, as well as that warm feeling that the Gaul had always seemed to generate. His Soul Light. But that didn't mean that Asterix was completely healed. He looked tired and worn, but his smile was genuine, and there was no trace of pain in his posture. But still, Getafix had to be sure. "How are you feeling?"

"A little dizzy," Asterix admitted. "Tired. And maybe a little sore." Slowly the events leading up to his incapacitation were coming back to him. His leaving the village; going off alone to face Mastix...Suddenly, the pure foolishness of his actions were very clear, and Asterix felt an overwhelming wave of shame wash over him. Taking hold of Getafix's hands he launched into an apology. "Getafix, I'm...I'm so sorry. I don't know what came over me. I just...I couldn't..." He faded out, not knowing how to continue. But Getafix understood.

"You did what you felt you had to, Asterix. That's all that matters. That's why you are who and what you are. I know why you did it."

Asterix appreciated that. It filled him with joy, and removed the guilt immediately. Until his gaze shifted to Obelix. His best friend. The friend whose illness had caused Asterix to go against everything he possibly could; even death. "Obelix..." There were no words that could ever fix this. No words, except two.

"I'm sorry."

Obelix gave out a sob, once again leaning forward to embrace his friend. His best friend. His brother.

The Venerable Druid was absolutely speechless. Asterix shouldn't have been alive. He shouldn't be. They had been too late. But that didn't matter. Who cares what the cause may have been. Asterix was alive, and it looked like everything was going to be fine. The elder stood to the side, watching silently as the three friends talked and hugged, and, in general, just reassured each other that everything was true. That it wasn't a dream. That everyone was alive and well.

As they talked and Asterix steadily gained strength, Getafix thought back to nearly thirty-five years before. Back to a very special birth of two very special babies. Born in the same season, same day, same hour, and same moment. When this young pair of friends, practically inseparable, had first come into the world. Where Asterix and Obelix had first come into his life; and changed it for the better. He remembered that strange feeling he had had; that need to stay in the village; that need to keep something safe. Getafix now realized that it had all been for a very important reason. To save Asterix's life. And probably more than that. If he hadn't stayed, he never would have created the Magic Potion. He never would have been there to help the villagers stand against the terrible might of Caesar. If he hadn't stayed, Asterix would be dead now. Getafix didn't understand it. And he doubted he ever would understand it. But, for now, that didn't really matter.

He was just glad he had stayed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *The Evil Book, Volume II or The Book of Evil, Volume II
> 
> *The Good Book, Volume I or The Book of the Good, Volume I
> 
> *I know I usually write the spells in Irish, but I felt that doing so here would take away from the moment. I wanted everyone to know exactly what the spell said, so that it didn't break the mood. :) Believe it or not, I came up with this rhyme as a typed it. No editing, or planning. It just came out.
> 
> NEXT CHAPTER IS THE LAST ONE EVERYBODY!


	29. Back to Normality

_Two weeks later..._

Asterix sat quietly on an old, moss-covered log. He breathed deeply, taking in the moist, afternoon air. A refreshing shower had passed over, covering the lush trees and grass with tiny droplets of water. The atmosphere was considerably cooler than it had been; the rain having changed it from humid, to comfortably moderate. The forest around him was calm, but full of life. Crickets chirped in the tall grasses, and birds of various kinds gave their songs as they flitted from tree to tree. The sun was shining down through the leaves, dripping dewdrops, and causing soft beams of light to trickle down. It was all very tranquil. Very relaxing. And very much what Asterix needed. After the whole dramatic incident with Mastix, the entire village had been left exhausted; no one more so than the blond warrior. It was a nightmare that they could now leave in the past.

It was good to feel safe again. To feel secure in one's own home and body. Asterix tried to forget what had happened. He tried to forget the pain, and fear; but that was something that would have to fade with time. He kept waking up during the night, crying out before jolting fully conscious. But the druids had assured him that that was very normal, especially after all he had been through. It only made sense that those dreadful events would cling to his mind for a while. He just wished that they wouldn't. The nightmares were the worst part; twisted memories of Mastix's attacks, not only on him, but also his friends. Particularly Obelix. Asterix often dreamed that one of the others stood in the position he had been forced to. That he had been forced to stand and watch _them_ be attacked, leaving him unable to save them. But the worst ones were whenever he dreamed about the Extraction. It came to him sometimes, in the middle of the night. Just as horrifying, and just as painful as it had been in real life. Asterix would sit up ramrod straight in bed with a strangled cry, images of the event fresh in his mind as though it had just happened. They were truly terrifying. Luckily, the warrior found he never had to face those nights alone.

Obelix had taken up temporary residence in Asterix's hut; determined to be there for his friend through it all. He had noticed the lack of sleep Asterix had been displaying, having at once figured out what was wrong. It had been pretty easy to arrange, seeing as Obelix often spent the night anyways. Asterix even had a separate cot up in his room for whenever Obelix slept over. Now it came in doubly handy. Each night, Obelix would sleep lightly, knowing that anytime after midnight the nightmares would start. Sometimes all Asterix did was groan in his sleep, tossing restlessly. But, other times, Asterix would give a gasp, or sometimes a soft yell, sitting up in bed with wide eyes. He would always be shaking; trembling as the residual images from the dream began to fade.

Obelix was always there. The large Gaul was always there to rub his back or arm, telling him that it was all over; that he was safe. That Mastix could no longer hurt him, nor anyone else. Obelix would then sit up with him, talking until he felt calm enough to fall back to sleep. And, Frankly, Asterix wasn't sure if he could have handled it all without his friend. Obelix seemed to know just what to say and do that made the nightmares dissolve into nothing more than an interrupted night's sleep.

Asterix sighed. The nightmares had been growing less over the last few nights. He was actually starting to get some sleep; only jolted awake from time to time. It was a relief, and it made him a little less tense.

"Aaaasterrrrix!"

The call came from the foliage to his right, followed by a cheerful, high-pitch bark. The sound caused Asterix to smile, letting out a light, airy chuckle. "I'm over here, Obelix!"

There was a moment or two where the sound of deep, resounding footsteps could be heard; punctuated by the accompaniment of bushes being flattened, before Obelix broke out into the little clearing where Asterix sat. Dogmatix scurried at his heals, yipping happily as he left his master's side to jump into Asterix's lap, showering his face with wet little licks.

Asterix laughed."Yes, yes, Dogmatic! I'm glad to see you too!"

Obelix waddled forward, carefully sitting himself down on the log at Asterix's side. The motion caused Asterix's end of the log to raise up a bit, but that didn't seem to bother the warrior in the least. He was used to it. Obelix watched, smiling, as his two best friends in the whole world interacted. It was good to see Asterix happy. It was good to see Asterix safe. But there were still a few things that bothered Obelix. The nightmares being the most evident. He was glad they were getting better, but what he really wanted was for them to be gone. Though Asterix was far better than he had been, he still looked tired and pale. It was a constant concern for Obelix.

Looking around the clearing, at the warm sunshine all around them, Obelix tried to sound natural. "How are you feeling?"

Asterix gazed down at Dogmatix, still wiggling playfully in his lap and nudging his hand. "I'm...alright. I'm a lot better; thank you, Obelix."

"But you're not completely better." An observation, not a question.

Asterix shook his head slowly. "No. No, not yet."

Obelix nodded. That had been the same answer to his same question for the last week. Asterix was always getting better. But never _actually_ better. Getafix and everyone was certain he would be; even Asterix himself. But Obelix couldn't seem to shake that...that feeling that he had gotten when Asterix had almost died. When he _had_ died. The large Gaul tried to deny that fact; that Asterix really had...had...His heart had stopped. He hadn't been breathing. All hope had been lost. But then, somehow, Asterix had managed to make it back to them. How, no one knew; not even the druids. But it was a miracle no one bothered trying to figure out. All that mattered was that Asterix was alive. But that didn't mean that things had all at once been fixed.

Asterix raised his eyes to meet those of his friend, and smiled. "Aw, come on, Obelix. It'll be alright. We've been through worse situations than this."

Obelix gave a huff. "Funny; I can't remember one." His voice carried far more seriousness than it normally did, catching his friend's attention.

Asterix's smile faded. He looked back down at Dogmatix, who was looking up at him, head tilted. They remained silent for a moment, just soaking in the daylight, and the peace and calm. Then Asterix closed his eyes and spoke again. "Obelix...I...I never apologized to you for...for going back on my promise. I-"

"You didn't break your promise."

Asterix opened his eyes, glancing over at Obelix as his friend continued.

"What you promised was that you would keep us safe. I didn't realize it at first; but now I understand. And though I certainly don't support what you did...I do understand. You gave everything you had to save us...even if that meant losing your life." Obelix tried not to let his emotional pain show, and wasn't quite successful. "I think I would have rather died myself than seen you...seen you..." He broke off, unable to finish. Averting his eyes, Obelix absently brushed away a tear that threatened to fall.

Asterix sat in shock a moment. He knew this had all been hard for Obelix, but he hadn't known the wound had been so...deep. Laying a gentle hand on the large Gaul's arm, Asterix tried to reach his friend through the grief. "Obelix," he soothed, "It's alright. Everything is fine; it's all over. We're all fine."

"But you almost weren't."

"But I _am_. We all are. Mastix is dead." Asterix spit the name out distastefully, then actually let out a laugh, hoping to lighten the mood. "And I've learned my lesson." His concerned look returned as he noticed the dull sorrow in his friend's eyes. Asterix sighed. "Obelix...I want to give you a new promise."

The large Gaul looked up at him with curiosity.

"I promise that I will never do what I did again, _if_ I can help it. And if ever I do have to, I promise we'll do it together."

Obelix let the words settle in his mind, trying to decide if that was what he really wanted Asterix to promise. He knew that, as village warrior, Asterix couldn't truly promise never to get hurt, because his occupation was riddled with danger. Harm was just a part of the deal, so to speak. And it was something that Obelix had never really considered. Asterix knew the risks; maybe he had always known. But this was the first time that Obelix had been aware of the fact that it wasn't just a possibility; it was a probability. Asterix could get hurt again, at any time. Because of what he was; a warrior and a hero. And every hero needs a friend to stand by his side.

And that friend, Obelix decided, would be no other than himself. It was a good promise. It meant that, should something happen to Asterix, Obelix wouldn't be shut out. He wouldn't feel helpless. Asterix was promising to never take a risk without him again. And that was a very good promise. Exactly the promise, Obelix realized, that he wanted.

Obelix nodded, giving his friend a real, genuine smile.

Asterix returned it. "What do you say we head back to the village, eh?" Asterix pushed himself up from the log, stretching the muscles in his back. He was still a little sore from...from two weeks ago. "The druids are leaving us tomorrow morning, and I want to show them how grateful I am."

Obelix rose to his feet as well, taking Dogmatix in his hands. "So do the others. Vitalstatistix has ordered a feast." He rubbed his stomach as his gut gave an excited gurgle. "Let's head back. I'm hungry."

Asterix laughed, rolling his eyes. "When are you ever not? But it will be best if you wait for the feast. You don't want to ruin your appetite, do you?"

They headed off down the path, making for the village, side by side. The uncomfortable feeling between them had lifted; their bond of friendship strengthened with a new promise. Obelix's stomach gave another growl as the big Gaul retorted.

"Impossible."

* * *

The feast, as always, was a great spirit lifter. The food was fantastic, as was the wine. Boar, roasted to perfection, lay upon every plate. The circular gathering of tables was decked with every form of delicacy the Gauls had to offer. The very best. Nothing was too good for the druids who had come so far, to help people they hardly even knew. Heartfelt speeches were given, mostly by Vitalstatistix, on how grateful they all were for their assistance against Mastix's evil. For, without Valuaddetax and the Venerable Druid, they would have lost long ago.

The villagers and druids ate and talked, the feeling of hopelessness and despair nothing more than a faded bruise in their minds. Asterix was well again; back on his feet. For, when he had returned from the Carnutes, he had been very weak. But that, of course, was far more preferable than being dead. Getafix and Obelix had, haltingly, told them all about what had happened in the Carnutes. The fact that they had very nearly lost their friend was a horrifying realization. But Asterix was recovering very quickly. Getafix's Magic Potion sped up his healing even more, since it carried a small degree of renewing powers. The only thing still hurting Asterix now were the memories. But, like everything else, those were fading too.

The only other lasting physical injuries that could be seen were Cacofonix's. He was really doing quite well, considering. His arm and shoulder were still firmly wrapped in linen, beneath his normal blue and white-checkered tunic. And the limb itself was placed carefully in a sling. After two weeks of careful tending, and a whole lot of Magic Potion, the bard was actually well enough to attend the feast. He was watched carefully, in case he tired; but he was genuinely glad to be out of bed and back among his friends. His ribs had healed faster than expected; and, though they still ached, there was no longer any danger of them damaging his lungs. The puncture wound in his shoulder was what gave him the most discomfort. But with every day, those injuries were fading. Much to everyone's relief.

Unhygienix and Fulliautomatix had been the bard's main attendants, seeing as they felt somewhat responsible for his fall; just because they had been there when it happened. They had taken turns sitting with Cacofonix during the days and nights after his accident, sometimes bringing their families. For the first time, Cacofonix actually became more acquainted with the wives and children of his two rival-like friends.

Fulliautomatix had even gone out and found the bard's lyre, which Cacofonix hadn't had time to think about since he had left for the Carnutes. The instrument had been dropped on the village parapets, where it had remained for days. Through cold, dew, and rain. The carved wood had become damp and covered in a slime-like mold. What little metal had adorned it had rusted, and many of the strings had either snapped or frayed. But Fulliautomatix, without the bard's knowing, had worked for two nights straight; using his artistic knowledge of metalwork to try his hand at carpentry. He actually proved to be quite good at it, using his tools to shape out a new frame for the instrument, exactly identical to the original. He had decorated it with similar designs of metal, at its top and bottom. Luckily, he actually had a little gold from Lutetia at hand, and he used that. Unhygienix had assisted with the strings, knowing how and were cords of the right kind could be found.

It was finished the night of feast, and the two men had presented it rather sheepishly to their friend in Vitalstatistix's hut, just before heading out for the feast. Cacofonix had been speechless, to say the least. With a hesitant hand he had taken the lyre, looking at it with more emotion than he knew how to express. He was _not_ going to hug them, but a handshake didn't seem like enough. But all he could do was look at it, whispering a weak and heartfelt, "Thank you."

That was all the other two Gauls needed. Cacofonix's lack of words was enough to convince them of just how much their gift had touched the bard. That, and the fact that the bard kept it with him all through the feast, holding in in carefully gripping fingers.

The feast ended late, with a village full of very happy Gauls, and three very relieved druids. It was as if the feast marked the real, true end of the nightmare; the beginning of normality. A blessing that warmed all their hearts, even as they all fell asleep; stomachs full, and dreams horror free.

Even Asterix.

* * *

Early morning came faster than anyone wanted, but it wasn't unpleasant. The sun crept up over the horizon, bathing the countryside in golden light. Before it had even reached above the treeline, the Gauls had all assembled outside the village gates. It was a somewhat sad affair, saying goodbye; it wasn't like they got visitors very often. But the two druids, who had given them so much, were needed back in the Carnutes. They had already stayed far longer than they had ever anticipated, not that they had had much control over that. But the Venerable Druid was the leader of the Druidic Council, and his duties therein awaited his return. Now that all was well in the Gaulish village, there was no longer any need to stay. Getafix could handle the residual effects of Mastix on his own.

As the villagers thanked Valuaddetax for all he had done for them, the Venerable Druid took gentle hold of Getafix's arm, pulling him aside from the others. Getafix immediately launched into a nervous explanation. "Listen, I know I went against the rules- I-I understand what that means but-" He and his mentor had not spoken of what Getafix had done in the Carnutes; bringing outsiders in through the borders. In the end, everything had worked out...but that didn't change the fact of what he had done.

The Venerable Druid let his past student trip over his words a moment more, before holding up a hand, silencing him. "Getafix, what you did was break one of our most important laws."

"I-I kno-"

"Then you also know what the consequence is for doing so."

Getafix did indeed. To break any druidic law was punishable by expulsion from the Carnutes, and the entire Druidic order. He had known that when he had broken the rule of bringing outsiders in, and he knew it now. And his thoughts on it hadn't changed since then. He was convinced that, had he not done what he had, Asterix would have died for certain. That, in and of itself, was worth it; but it was still enough to make Getafix wince. He could barely believe that he had actually committed such an act. But he had. And he was going to stick by that decision, no matter how much it hurt. "I take full responsibility for my actions," he said again, just like he had in the Carnutes.

"I know you do." The Venerable Druid laid a hand on Getafix's shoulder with a smile. "Which is partly why there will be no consequences."

Getafix was dumbstruck. Maybe he hadn't heard right. "Wh-what?"

"I said, there will be no consequences for you to be responsible for."

"But...But I-"

"Getafix. Those laws were put in place to keep out those who were evil and of an impure heart. I set that rule in place, after Mastix left, so as to never let someone like him enter it again." The elder shrugged. "I know it was just a sign; but it was a way to declare our separation from the outside...because, frankly, I was afraid of it."

Getafix's jaw dropped even further, but he remained silent as his mentor continued.

"I was afraid of making another mistake, like I had done with Mastix. I was afraid of opening up to the world, because I thought it might hurt me...or any of those under my care. I shut the world out. And by doing so, I made another mistake." The Venerable Druid raised his gaze to meet Getafix's startled one. "But you, Getafix; you did the opposite. You _opened_ up to the world; to this village." He swept a hand toward the happy villagers who were still blissfully unaware of their serious conversation. "To these people." He looked back at his student. "You did what I couldn't, and in all honesty, it may have saved us all."

Getafix blinked. "I...I don't think that it was I who did that."

"Really? Think about it. Without you, this village would be under Caesar's rule. Without you, Mastix would have destroyed this village. Without you, Asterix would have surely died, and another Solas Anam would have been lost. And...and without you, I would still be trapped in my own fears of failure back in the Carnutes." The elder smiled. "No. Getafix there will be no consequences for your actions. Because what you did was true, and right, and of a pure heart." And then the Venerable Druid did something very unexpected.

He stepped forward and embraced Getafix like a father might embrace a son.

Getafix was too stunned to comprehend it at first, but slowly his arms wrapped around his mentor in response. It felt odd, coming from someone who had nearly always shown so little emotion. And the thought came to Getafix how odd it must look; two full-grown, bearded men hugging each other like family. But the image faded as his mentor pulled out of the embrace and held him at arms length.

"Getafix, I am very, _very_ proud of you. You are always welcome in the Carnutes. You turned out to be a far better _student_ , a far better _druid_ , and a far better _man_ than I could ever have hoped that you would. Ná athrú.*"

Getafix nodded in thanks, and the two returned to their normal, less intimate selves. The moment was over, but things that had needed to be cleared, had been. No strain existed between them anymore; not even Mastix. They were once again mentor and apprentice, only now, perhaps in a way, their roles had been reversed.

Over by the gate, the children, who had become quite attached to Valuaddetax, were saying a rather glum farewell. After the incident with the nightmares, the kindly healer had spent much time with the youngsters, trying to help them the best he could. His potions and remedies could do very little for a person's emotional state; but a strong friendship often could. And so, over the course of the last few weeks, Valuaddetax had become very much like a kindly uncle, or grandfather, to the children. Needless to say, he would be sorely missed among them.

"Will you come back soon?" one little girl spoke up. Her large blue eyes were brimming with unshed tears, and it almost broke Valuaddetax's heart. He caught the Venerable Druid's nod as the elder and Getafix rejoined the group. Taking that as an affirmation, he nodded.

"I believe we will make it a point to return and visit. Especially after all we've been through together." He smiled, ruffling the hair of Fulliautomatix's son. "And we'll try not to make it to long from now, alri- Oof!" He got no further, as he was swiftly enveloped within the tiny embraces of countless little boys and girls.

The adults chuckled merrily, before Vitalstatistix turned to the Venerable Druid. Despite the occasion, the Chieftain was not standing upon his shield. Until the horrors of two weeks ago wore off, it was very unlikely that he would. Being near his wife, and everyone else he cared about, was far more important to him, at the moment, than being exhausted above them. Holding out his hand, he gave the elder druid's own a hearty shake. "There are no words we can use to...to thank you for all you have done for us." His eyes shone with the pure gratitude behind them, in a way that conveyed far more than grand words or elaborate speeches ever could.

"Yes," Impedimenta said beside him, "We would have been lost without you. Mastix would have...killed us all."

At the mention of the dark druid's name, everyone became silent. Naturally, the subject of the man was an unpleasant one. But they had no more to fear. Mastix was dead. Dead and buried. As soon as everything had been solved, and Asterix was back among them, safe and alive; Getafix, the Venerable Druid, and Valuaddetax had gone and taken care of the villain's body. A person of such evil deserved no pyre in the Carnutes, nor tomb. But Getafix had absolutely refused to bury Mastix in the forest, near the village. It had taken time, almost a full night, but they had taken the body far away, out of the woods to the South, and there buried him. Finally, there was nothing left to fear from Mastix.

The Book of Olc had been burned; thrown into the flames of a bonfire, outside the village, by the Venerable Druid's own hands. It's evil would never again be used to harm another man, woman, or child. The book's counterpart, sadly, also needed to be destroyed, on account that someone might be able to figure out certain spells through the antidotes. It was a risk, and so, in those same flames, that book was destroyed as well.

"We will really miss all of you," Valuaddetax spoke up cheerfully, dragging the villagers' minds back to the far more pleasant moment. He shook Fulliautomatix's hand, then Unhygienix's. Making his way down the long line of some of the most courageous people he had ever met. Making it to Cacofonix, he carefully shook the hand of the bard's uninjured limb. "Now, I want you to be extra cautious for the next few weeks. No fooling about." He sent Vitalstatistix a glance. "Make sure he takes it easy."

Vitalstatistix nodded. It had been decided that the injured musician would stay with the Chieftain and his wife until he had recovered enough to make it up the spiral stair of his tree hut. "We will." The Chief gave Cacofonix a meaningful look, but behind it sparkled a kind, gentle reassurance. Valuaddetax knew he was leaving the bard in very good hands. The healer joined his elder at the head of the group, looking back at all the grateful faces. The Venerable Druid had already made his farewells...

All but one.

"Asterix." Shifting his gaze toward the back, the elder spoke solemnly. The crowd parted to reveal the short, blond-haired Gaul, forever flanked by his best friend, Obelix. "Come here, if you please."

Slowly, and in all honestly, rather reluctantly, Asterix made it to the front. He had already been more of the center of attention than he cared for; but who was he to disobey a druid. Coming to a halt directly in front of the elder, Asterix barely even came up to the Venerable Druid's lower chest. Smiling that rare smile, the elder knelt down in front of the Gaul so that they were almost the same height.

"Asterix. When I first came here, this village was in great darkness. Hope is hard to find in such situations, and in such places as where evil lurks. But from within this darkness, you stood; a light in the gloom, and a hope in the peril."

Asterix lowered his gaze, embarrassed, and not completely convinced that what the druid said was true. But before he could protest, the elder continued.

"You are what you are, Asterix. And if not for that, we would all be lost. And I mean all of us; this village, the Romans, and even those of us in the Carnutes. You are a hero," he smiled, looking up at the others, "among heroes. You are a Solas Anam, and that will never be something to be ashamed of. You, as a warrior, protect this village. Even at the cost of your own life. There is no greater sacrifice that one can give for those he loves." The elder held a hand very gently over Asterix's chest, just to the left of his heart. "You have the soul of a Solas Anam, and the courage of a Gaul. Never before have I seen a bravery such as yours. And so I leave you this." Removing his hand from the warrior's front, the Venerable Druid watched in amusement as Asterix looked down in surprise at the golden pin that had all at once seemed to appear on his tunic.

Asterix gazed at the emblem, intrigued by the intricate designs and symbols. Looking back up at the elder, he raised an eyebrow in question.

The Venerable Druid knew what he was asking. "That once belonged to Prolix, the only other Solas Anam I have ever known. I have carried it for many years. It is the emblem of the Soul Light. With it, any druid you ever come across will know who and what you are; and will give you assistance whenever it is needed." Standing back to his feet, the druid held out his long-fingered hand. "Farewell, Asterix; defender of the Gauls, and protector of Hope and Light."

All present gave out a hearty cheer, filling the entire countryside with the joyful noise. It echoed out over the sea, and probably was heard for as far away as Rome itself. For, Toutatis knew, Asterix deserved it.

With a final round of farewells; hugs, handshakes, and back-pats, the Venerable Druid and Valuaddetax, laden with supplies, headed out into the forest. It was the first few steps of the long journey back to the Carnutes. The villagers waved and called out for as long as they could see the druids in the distance. But, before long, their friends had disappeared from view. Slowly the crowd dispersed; some going back to their homes, others to their occupations. Fulliautomatix went to work metal in his shop. Unhygienix gathered his two sons to help him with a 'fresh' shipment of mackerel. Mrs. Geriatrix led a grumbling Geriatrix back home for breakfast. Obelix went to deliver a menhir, though, to whom he hadn't any idea; and Dogmatix scurried behind him. Vitalstatistix and Impedimenta helped Cacofonix back to their hut, were the bard could rest and heal. In short, everyone went back to exactly what they would have been doing any other day.

Normality.

That was all they wanted. Normality, and a time to get their lives back in order. They were safe. They were free. And at the moment, nothing could have fit the bill better than that. Mastix could no longer take that from them. And though none of them knew what may lie ahead of them in the future, for now they would be happy with what they had.

Normality.

The dust settled outside of the village gates, revealing two figures who had not yet returned to their normal lives. Asterix and Getafix stood still and silent; side by side, gazing in the direction in which the two druids had gone. Getafix with his hands placed solidly behind his back; and Asterix with his fingers gently fidgeting with the gold pin on his chest. They stood that way for some time; just enjoying the peace and quiet. The calm. And then, a little hesitantly, Asterix spoke.

"...Getafix?"

"Yes, Asterix?"

The little Gaul turned to look the druid straight in the eye. "Does being a Solas Anam define who I am?" He blurted out the question all at once. There. He had asked it. For you see, Asterix didn't want a word to define him; to tell him what he was. He didn't want to be trapped under something that he was; or what others thought he was. He didn't want to just be a word; a definition. He wanted to be himself. Not that he could change it. But it was the only thing left on his mind that bothered him. The only thing left keeping him from joining the others in normality. Asterix needed to know.

And Getafix knew that too. The village druid's eyes softened immediately to a caring, gentle gaze. He thought about his friend's question; and about Asterix himself. He knew the answer, but how to say it was a different matter all together. After a moment, he came to a conclusion. "No. No, Asterix, being a Solas Anam does not define who, nor what, you are. If anything, _you_ define what a Solas Anam _is_. You are still the same man you always were. We've always known... _I've_ always known, that you were special. That there was more to you than meets the eye. Your bravery, your courage, your love, and your pure heart; those are the things that have always defined you." He smiled. "And Solas Anam is just a title we druids happen to have to described it. You are you. And that is the only thing that can truly define who and what you are, my friend."

Asterix blinked a few times, before looking down at the trinket pinned to his clothes. He let Getafix's words sink in; wise as always. A smile of understanding began to grow on his face, spreading it all the way to his bright, brown eyes. Looking back up at his druid, he whispered with the most sincerity possible.

"Thank you, Getafix."

The druid smiled once again, nodding toward the open gate. Together they turned and headed in; side by side to join the others in the small Gaulish village by the sea. There was much to be done. People to see. Lives to get back under way. And, before long, Getafix guessed, a fishfight to break up. Things would return to normal very quickly; mostly because the Gauls were so resilient. Even after all they had experienced, they could still bounce back, and at an alarming speed. But, again, that was what they wanted. It was what they needed.

Even after Asterix and Getafix had gone in, the great, wooden gate was kept open. For there was no fear of evil; no dark force to keep out. For, despite being the prey of many, Gauls are extremely hospital; as long as those who come to visit are friendly. Anyone is welcome; trust always coming before doubt. And that was just the way it was; and the way it always would be.

Over the waters, the sun rose in all it's beauty. Birds sang, and insects hummed. The grass swayed gently, and, here and there, a wild boar snoozed in the morning light. For it was the start of a new day; with new chances to live and fight and breath. Therefore, we now leave this tiny village once more. This small safe haven from Caesar's rule; hemmed in by forest and sea. For things will calm down now, and all has returned to normal. Only memories mark what has passed, and the future gleams bright, as does hope.

Their adventure is at an end.

But there are always more to come...

_THE END_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Do not change.
> 
> Oh my goodness, I can't believe it! It's done! After nearly four months I have finally finished!
> 
> Thank you all so much for your support, as well as your friendship. Many of you I have come to know very well, and hope that I shall still be able to chat with you all, from time to time, even though the story is done. Again, thank you all so much for your encouragement, and kind words. It warms my heart more than I could ever express. :)
> 
> Some of you already know that I already have another Asterix story forming in my mind (Obelix-focused). Once I get a few bugs worked out, I would be more than happy to start on it; but I need to ask you all a question first. This summer, I shall be working at a Christian summer camp as a camp Councilor. While I am there, it is very, VERY unlikely that I will have any opportunity to write. And that may last more or less than a month and a half. So, here is my question:
> 
> Do you all want me to start my new story as soon as possible, stopping during that time I'm gone and then continuing when I return? Or would you rather I just wait until after August to start my next story altogether? I'll leave it up to you (majority wins). ;)
> 
> ~ Zeragii signing off...
> 
> And, once again, THANK YOU!


End file.
